


You Are Safe in My Heart

by AstriferousSprite



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Edwardian Period, Framing Story, M/M, for the titanic storyline that is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26571172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstriferousSprite/pseuds/AstriferousSprite
Summary: The year is 1912. Young artist Adil Joshi and his friend have just scored tickets aboard a luxury vessel bound for New York; meanwhile, a newly engaged Toby Hamilton dreads the passage more and more with each passing day. A chance encounter draws them together, but will they ever be brave enough to act on their feelings? And will it be enough to brave the coming tragedy?A Titanic AU, based off of the film, with a few liberties taken.
Relationships: Emma Garland & Adil Joshi, Joe O'Hara & Adil Joshi, Toby Hamilton & Joe O'Hara, Toby Hamilton/Adil Joshi, there are comically few friendship tags for this fandom and i am going insane
Comments: 25
Kudos: 11





	1. Prologue: It's All Coming Back to Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArtDeco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtDeco/gifts).



> So like most of my writing ideas nowadays, this was born from a single offhand comment in the halcyon discord that spiraled out of our control and became a fully-fledged AU. Never stop, you guys. <3 Anyways, here's the trashy Titanic AU we never knew we needed but it's here now!!!  
> HUGE DISCLAIMER that I've never actually seen _Titanic,_ all I know of it is from reading the script and listening to what my friends have to say about it. I'm going more for the vibe than strict accuracy here, ya know?  
> Work and chapter titles are taken from, who else, the queen Celine Dion. Bonus points to anyone who figures out which songs I'm referencing (and no, it's not just THAT one :P)

_To say that Brianna Fleischman isn’t going crazy would be a bit of a lie._

_For the past three years, she’s been obsessing over the wreck of the Titanic; legend spoke of all the treasure left behind on her decks, abandoned by the passengers and crew when they didn’t have time to recover them, but one piece always stood out to her: the fabled_ coeur de la mer _, a heart-shaped diamond seemingly lost to the sands of time but rumored to be aboard her capsized deck. Fleischman knows its storied history, the hands it was passed down through before being inlaid into a necklace and sold off to some rich English family whose name she can’t quite recall, and she knows that she wants it. More than ever, she wants to be the one to uncover it from its watery grave and lay this over eighty-year mystery to rest—but Jesus, it’s such a damn ordeal. She’s rented out a ship with a million fancy toys for plumbing the depths of the ocean in style, but even a solid week of exploration has yielded nothing and they’re almost ready to call it quits._

_Until, of course, just two days ago, when she and her crew finally managed to recover a safe from bedroom B-54 of “the promenade suite,” one of the most luxurious aboard. Initially, Fleischman was completely devastated when the contents revealed not the necklace but a seemingly useless array of papers—that is, until one of the papers proved to be more valuable than her team expected._

_It’s a simple portrait of a young man done in pencil, almost perfectly preserved saved for the frayed edges. He reclines on the bed, fully nude but with his legs positioned such that nothing scandalous is revealed; his handsome features are beautifully rendered upon the page as he gazes passionately at the viewer. And dangling from the hand laying on his chest is a heart-shaped pendant, almost identical to the references they have with them._

_The picture is dated April 14, 1912. The only other words upon the page are_ For Toby – AJ _._

 _Instantly, her team’s scrambling to find the identities of the two names._ _AJ_ _proves problematic, as there are no less than twelve passengers on the manifest with those same initials, and enough survived that identifying them would be a headache._ _Toby_ _ends up being a bit easier to find, though; the lone survivor with that name is identified as Tobias Edward Hamilton, the younger twin of an aristocratic English family who boarded the_ Titanic _alongside his mother Priscilla, his stepfather Lucian, and his fiancée Theresa._

_Identifying Toby is easy. Tracking him down, however, proves to be a bit more complicated. Lucian died in the sinking, Priscilla lost contact with him, and Theresa married a different man, so they’re all ruled out as leads; moreover, he remained a bachelor his whole life, meaning no children or grandchildren to help them. While she ends up doing a brief interview from sea asking for help in identifying the mysterious Toby and AJ, she highly doubts they’ll get the answers they need anytime soon. Hell, it’s been over eighty years since the ship sank, meaning if this Toby really is Mr. Hamilton, he’d be a hundred and five years old by now; it’s more than likely that he’s already dead, and AJ along with him._

_She’s almost ready to throw in the towel when the call arrives._

_“It’s for you,” says her second-in-command Erin Koizumi, thrusting the phone in her general direction. “And trust me, you_ _wanna_ _take it.”_

_With a sigh, Fleishman takes it. “This is Brianna Fleischman,” she says, fiddling with the cord. “What can I do for you?”_

_“Oh, not much,” says the voice at the other end; from the sounds of it, he’s older and English, even though the signal seems to be coming from New York. “I was just wondering if you’ve found the heart of the ocean yet, Ms. Fleischman.”_

_She nearly drops the phone. Koizumi just smirks. “Who’s asking?” she says, hoping her voice isn’t shaking too much; after all, she never once_ _publicly_ _said anything about the treasure they were hunting._

_A pause._

_And then, to her astonishment, the voice at the other end says, “Toby Hamilton.”_

_“Thank you for making it here on such short notice, Mr. Hamilton.”_

_Mr. Hamilton waves his hand. “Think nothing of it,” he says, as the intern Lucas Hart brings the last of his meager luggage into the bedroom. “I was just interested in seeing how it would all play out, I suppose.”_

_“Of course,” says Fleischman, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. Undoubtedly, the elderly Tobias Hamilton that stands before her is leagues older than the demure model in the sketch, with his white hair and weathered face, but there’s a youthfulness in his eyes that belies his years; he doesn't seem a day over seventy, hardly the centenarian he claims to be. “I hope you enjoyed your ride from Manhattan.”_

_“Oh, very much so,” he says, rather cheerfully. “I’d never been in a helicopter before, it was quite the experience.” With a grunt, Hart tosses the suitcase onto the bed. “Do be careful with that, please.”_

_“Sorry, sir,” he mutters, stepping back and curling his hands to his sides. “Er, is it really true you were a professor at NYU this whole time?”_

_Fleischman briefly shoots a glance at him, but graciously Hamilton seems unbothered that the kid’s discussing his personal life. “Indeed. Taught mathematics for over forty years until they finally put me to pasture thirty years ago.”_

_Fleischman’s father is an alum of NYU; nonetheless, that’s far beside the point, and she’s here to investigate, not make polite small talk. “Interesting,” she says. “Well, we brought over some of your old belongings from your stateroom… aboard the_ Titanic _, that is.”_

_“I appreciate it,” he says, tightly gripping his cane as he crosses the room to the cabinet where the old artifacts are laying in rest. “It shall be nice to have them back.”_

_He pauses, taking in the trinkets. With his free hand, he caresses an old moonstone brooch, chuckling to himself._

_“Ah, she’ll be wanting this,” he says._

_“Your_ _fiancée_ _?”_

_“My mother.” He shakes his head. “The damn woman never learnt how to knock.” He sets the brooch aside, handling a pair of rusted cufflinks. “Ah, thank you! I’ve been looking everywhere for these. I was rather disappointed at having left them behind.”_

_“Glad we could be of service,” she says, as he moves his attention to an old pocket watch, stopped precisely at 2:20. His face seems to shift, suddenly, as he holds the timepiece in his hand. Almost as if he’s reuniting with an old friend. “Bet you’re quite happy to have that back, too, huh?”_

_“Oh, it’s not mine,” he whispers._

_He pauses. Fleischman looks away._

_“Look, I know this might be hard,” she says, “but we need to know where the heart is. It’s the one thing of yours we haven’t yet recovered.”_

_“I understand.”_

_“Any information you have for us would be of use, Mr. Hamilton.” She turns back to him; the pocket watch is back on the table, but his free hand is still hovering over it. “It won’t be for nothing. You’ll be compensated, as much as you please.”_

_“No, no,” he says, waving his hand again. “I don’t want your money, Ms. Fleischman.” He limps back away from the dresser, towards her. “I’ll tell you what I know, on one condition.”_

_“Name it.”_

_“The drawing,” he says. “I’d like it back.”_

_“Deal.” She opens the door. “It should be waiting in the lab deck, if you’d like to…”_

_He steels his jaw. “Lead the way.”_

_All too soon, they’re gathered back in the onboard lab. The picture is delicately extracted and placed on the table in front of them, careful to be kept out of the rays of sunlight filtering in through the windows._

_Hamilton is silent as he takes in the drawing. Fleischman wonders if he’s not fazed at seeing himself drawn young and in the nude, but there’s no embarrassment or shame in how he looks at himself. On the contrary, his face gradually takes on the same nostalgic look he had while holding the pocket watch._

_He smiles faintly, delicately tracing his wrinkled finger over the initials in the corner. “Adil.”_

_She cocks an eyebrow. “Yes, I know it’s a deal,” she says, “we already established—”_

_“No, Adil,” he repeats. “Adil Joshi.” He looks up. “That’s the man who drew this.”_

_“Adil Joshi,” she echoes. The name does ring a bell; she thinks she remembers seeing it on the manifest, alongside all the other AJ names. “That’s excellent! Do you think he’d know anything about the heart? We could use as many perspectives as we could.”_

_Hamilton’s smile falters ever so slightly. “I’m afraid he’s no longer with us.”_

_“Oh,” she says. In all honesty, while she remembers an Adil Joshi, she has no idea if he survived the sinking. “Um, well…”_

_Thankfully, Koizumi’s better at her with words. “My condolences, sir,” she says._

_He just nods, looking back towards the portrait. Adil’s portrait. “But I suppose he would,” he says, resting a hand over his chest. “After all, he was the only one besides_ _me_ _to see the bloody thing.”_

 _Koizumi leans forward, her eyes wide_ _all of a sudden_ _. “You mean, when you posed with it?”_

_“Right, exactly.” He chuckles. “Well, you’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain. I suppose I better get on with mine.”_

_“Anything you have for us is valuable.” Fleischman pauses to fiddle with the tape recorder, flicking it on and laying it on the table. “Mr. Toby Hamilton. Care to share with us where you suspect the heart of the ocean might be?”_

_“I’m afraid it’s a bit of a long story.”_

_She leans forward. “I’ve waited three years to find the heart,” she says, gazing at him. “With all due respect, I can wait another few hours.”_

_He nods, before settling back in his chair with a sigh. “Then we better get on with it,” he says, looking out the window at the vast expanse of the rolling Atlantic. “Ah, but where to begin?” A faint smile_ _creeps_ _back onto his face. “It was the spring of 1912…”_


	2. These Prayers Ain't Working Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for suicidal ideation near the end of the chapter. If you wish to read past that part, simply skip everything past "He couldn't live like this" and pick back up at "All the sorrow from the past few minutes seemed to wash away...".

…and Adil Joshi could hardly believe his luck.

“It’s America, Joe,” he said, looking over the hand he’s been dealt. “How bad could it be?”

“It’s New York,” said Joe. In front of them, the Swedish men they were betting against grumbled and raised a few eyebrows at their chatting. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my country, but you couldn’t pay me to set foot back in that wretched hive of a city.”

“Not even if the _Times_ is hiring?” His hand was actually looking quite optimistic, but he didn’t dare let it show on his face. “Because I seem to recall a little chatter about the paper last night…”

Joe rolled his eyes, lightly swatting his friend on the arm. “Just shut up and place your bets, Adil.”

“Righto.”

Slowly, it became time to show their hands. All eyes fell onto Adil, who merely threw a glance at Joe. “Joe, I am so sorry.”

“Well, whatever could you be sorry for?”

Adil grinned, laying down his hand. The series of hearts cheerfully looked back up at him. “Because I’m afraid you’re going to New York with me after all. Straight flush!”

“You son of a—” Joe cackled, throwing his arm around Adil. “You did it, you madman!” Adil hugged him back as they whooped in delight. “New York City, baby!”

“Alright, alright.” With a last chuckle, Adil disentangled himself from his friend to look at what their opponents were showing. “Oh, dear. Three of a kind and a two pair, gentlemen? I’m sorry, but that’s just not going to be enough.”

“Blast,” muttered one of their opponents, as Joe neatly snatched up their winnings—including the two ship tickets. “You idiot, Sven, we just lost all our savings to some dirty pi—”

Adil scrambled to his feet. “It’s been lovely, gentleman!” he yelled before they could dare finish that sentence. “Now!” He turned to the bartender, all giddy smiles. “When does the _Titanic_ set sail, good sir?”

“Five minutes!”

Adil froze, his heart set into a panic. Words of rage were forming at his tongue, but tragically, he was too much of a proper bloke to even dare utter any of them.

Joe, mercifully enough, was none of that. “ _Shit,_ ” he hissed, grabbing Adil’s wrist and pulling him out of the pub. “We gotta go, man! Come on!”

“It’s been wonderful!” he called out to the patrons as they staggered their way back onto the pier, the sweet spray of saltwater filling his lungs with each large bound. This was it. They were headed to America. Towards _adventure._ “But I’m afraid we must be off!”

“Have a grand time, gentlemen!

Meanwhile, Toby Hamilton was most assuredly not having a grand time.

“I can’t believe we had to wait this long to board,” hissed Priscilla as the family jostled their way through the crowd of third-class passengers still waiting on the gangplank to board. In all honesty, Toby felt quite awful at the way they were basically cutting through the other passengers, but with the way his mother was tightly gripping his arm and the uncomfortable weight of his valise in his hand, there wasn’t really much room to opine either way. “Honestly, catching us mixed up with this sort—”

Toby gritted his teeth, shifting his valise to his left hand as he desperately tried to hold them back. “If I remember,” he said through clenched teeth, “we would have boarded with the other first-class passengers in time had you not insisted I change before we left.”

“Well, I couldn’t have you boarding a ship in such dark clothes, darling,” she said, in a sickeningly sweet coo. “You looked as though you were about to attend a funeral, not leave on holiday.”

Some holiday this is, he thought glumly as the queue slowly advanced. His mother had made it out to be a simple bonding experience, just a nice holiday with the entire family—but the conspicuous absence of his brother (still moping around over Emma) and the presence of Theresa Buchanan slightly upset that image somewhat. Or, rather, he _wished_ it did; as far as everyone knew (and everyone did know, irritatingly enough), this trip to the United States was just as much family bonding as it was welcoming his fiancée into the Hamilton family.

Speaking of the devil, there she was, finally catching up to him despite his best efforts. “Well, I don’t mind the wait,” she said, sweet as ever, the perfect picture of genteel femininity with her oversized hat and sweet smile. “It gives us a little more time to converse, doesn’t it?”

Toby waved his free hand. “I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment, I’m afraid,” he said, swinging around his valise for punctuation as they crawled ever closer to the grand ship. “Damn thing’s taking up my entire concentration.”

“Allow me,” said Lucian from behind him, grabbing the valise from his hand. Toby opened his mouth to object—something about his stepfather being just as preoccupied with his own luggage—but before he could speak, he was waving over one of the porters. “Excuse me, good sir.” He gestured to Toby’s luggage. “Could we have this taken up to first class, please? The promenade suite, if you will.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the young man, “I’m afraid it’s not—”

Lucian just smiled, slipping a five-pound note into his hand. “Thank you so much,” he said. “I really appreciate it.” Instantly, the young porter’s face shifted, and he nodded before swiftly grabbing the suitcase and heading away.

Typical of him. Using his finances to get ahead and pay for any luxury that he could.

It sickened him, really.

Lucian chuckled. “God’s bones, Toby, what did you even put in that thing? It’s damn heavy.”

“Not much,” he muttered, fiddling with the little signet ring on his finger now that he had nothing else with which to occupy his hands, no matter how much Theresa looked at him. “Just some light reading.”

“Light reading?” he said. “Now, Toby, that felt like you brought your whole damn library with you.”

“A man has to keep his mind occupied.”

“Oh, you’ll have plenty to occupy yourself with,” he said with a pointed smirk at him and Theresa. “It’s a luxury ship, you should have plenty to do!”

It was a luxury ship, alright. The _Titanic_ towered into the sky with her red smokestacks already billowing out hot steam in preparation for her departure. The finest of her class, he’d heard her being called; with their first-class tickets, even the journey towards New York would have been spent in just as much splendor as the holiday itself.

But when Toby thought about his upcoming voyage, all that came to mind was Theresa Buchanan, clinging to his arm and peering at him demurely from under her ridiculous hat as if they were already married, and as if the whole affair wasn’t perfectly orchestrated by their parents. As if they had both mutually wanted to be in this position.

It was a luxury ship, perhaps, but she was taking him to his doom.

The whistle was fiercely blowing just as soon as Adil and Joe pulled up to the pier.

“Hang on!” yelled Adil, waving around their prized tickets just as it looked as if the last tender was about to depart. “Hang on just a minute, sir, we have tickets! Don’t leave just yet, sir! _Sir!_ ”

The porter eyed them with suspicion; they had just stopped to catch their breath at the edge of the pier, and no doubt they hardly looked ready for a voyage. Adil was still in his ratty street clothes, his hair all askew and his possessions fitting perfectly into a single rucksack. “Have you been through the inspection, sirs?”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” said Joe, waving a casual hand. “Don’t worry about us, we don't have lice.” He paused, giving one of his trademark charming smiles. “We’re both Americans.”

“Americans, huh?” he said, peering down at Adil, who just nodded back with his own pleasant grin. “Right. Tickets, please?”

Although he was loath to part with his newly acquired treasures, Adil handed them over all the same. The porter swiped them from his hands and read them both over, his frow scrunching up.

“Right. Gunderson and… Gunderson?” Once more, he eyed Adil suspiciously; he knew full well that he wouldn’t be able to pass for Swedish on a good day.

As if sensing the obvious tension, Joe lay a protective hand on Adil’s shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “Gunderson and Gunderson.”

The porter eyed them, and opened his mouth as if to object, but just then the last whistle blew, and it became apparent that this ship was to depart sooner than they’d hoped.

“Aright, fine,” he said, waving his arms at the loading dock. “Get on board, gentlemen. Have a safe voyage.”

“Thank you, sir!” Instantly, the two were scrambling up the gangplank, Adil nearly tripping over his feet in anticipation as they raced up through the slowly thinning crowd—

—right up to the deck of the _Titanic_ herself.

Joe let out a loud whoop as they reached the deck, throwing his hands in the air. “Son of a bitch, we did it!” Adil just laughed, giddily throwing his arm around his friend as they ran across the ship to the third-class decks. “America, here we come!”

“We,” declared Adil, “are the luckiest sons of bitches alive.”

“So my father was considering the Darley Arabian,” began Theresa as soon as all their belongings were settled.

“Mm-hmm,” said Toby, sitting at the edge of the bed as Theresa flittered around him.

“And then mother had her opinions, but honestly, it’s like they’re forgetting it won’t just be my horse, you know?” She giggled, sitting down beside him and laying her head on his shoulder. “A wedding gift should be one beloved by both parties, I think.”

“Right.” Instinctively, Toby reached out to lay a single unmoving hand on her shoulder, as propriety dictated. “Well, er, I never really gave it much thought, you see. I never rode much.”

“Oh, then we shall have a grand time deciding, shan’t we!” She nuzzled her head deeper against the crook of his neck and reached for his other hand; he didn’t move. “There’s so much to consider, you know, with _temperament,_ and use—I mean, God knows draught horses are delightfully well-behaved, but such a fuss to care for, and so _large_ —”

She kept on prattling on about all the pros and cons of different breeds, with Toby only shamefully half listening.

God, if this was to be the rest of his life, he really didn’t know what he’d do with himself.

“She’s supposed to be the finest ship ever crafted.”

Toby just sat silently as Lucian looked around the dining room with pride, as if he were the one to construct her. “The largest moving object made by man, I’ve heard it said. And here she is, in all her luxury!” He chuckled. “How fortunate we are to see her off, aren’t we?”

“You know what I heard?” All attention turned to their dining companion who had joined them that afternoon. “It’s strange that we always call ships ‘she,’ isn’t it? What does it say about the men overseeing their build?”

“Miss Garland,” murmured his mother under her breath, but Toby couldn’t help but chuckle at the comment.

Emma Garland was a strange case. Her father had made a name for himself in the budding hospitality industry, and they soon found themselves with enough wealth to rub elbows with the highest strata of society, even if they were never fully accepted by them. The Hamiltons, however, had gotten along quite well with Emma—no less Freddie, whom she had courted for a few months before she inexplicably ended it and left him a brokenhearted fool. Toby supposed he should have felt more resentment towards her; after all, her abandoning Freddie for a potential career in America was the entire reason why the burden of continuing the Hamilton legacy was thrust upon him even though it was Freddie who bore the title. However, he just couldn’t find it in his heart to hate her. Being a Lord’s wife came with certain limitations that she was simply not willing to accept, and he always felt that she was born for independence.

And she was sure taking advantage of that independence in a way that both shocked and thrilled Toby. God, sometimes he wished he had half her courage to just abandon this entire life and just forget to return home on the return ship, but he knew that could never be the case. All he could do was rebel in his own small ways, he supposed.

Priscilla wrinkled her nose as he lit up a cigarette. “Please, not at the table, Toby.”

“I don’t see a better time,” he muttered around the cigarette just as the waiter arrived to take their orders. “I’ll have the lamb, rare.” He paused. “Please.”

Theresa scooted up closer to his right side. “And the trout amandine,” she whispered into his ear instead of out loud.

Puzzled, Toby turned back to the waiter. “And, er, the trout amandine for the lady.”

“Would you like him to cut that up for you as well, Miss Buchanan?” said Emma with a pointed glance at the two of them.

Theresa pouted. “It’s romantic,” she insisted as everyone else’s orders were taken. Emma just sighed, her lips held in a tight smile; no wonder this kind of arrangement was precisely the thing she was avoiding in the first place.

“But I digress,” she continued. “The ship. Tell me, who was it that came up with the name?”

“Mr. Bruce Ismay,” said Mr. D’Abberville, already tucking his napkin into his collar. “A rather interesting fellow, we conversed last night. He said he wanted to convey sheer size—and with size comes safety, and stability—”

“You know,” said Toby, finding a sliver of courage, “Dr. Freud might have some choice words with man’s preoccupation with _size_ above all. Mr. Ismay might find his ideas quite riveting.”

His mother scoffed. “My God, Toby—” she began.

The sliver of courage he’d found already began to die. “I’m sorry,” he muttered to the tablecloth. “I don’t know what came over me.”

He knew a long and awkward lunch was approaching, and he felt it would probably be best to hold his tongue for the rest of the meal. But as he briefly looked up and met Emma’s approving eyes, he couldn’t find it in himself to truly regret his words.

“What’re you drawing there, kid?”

Adil instinctively held his sketchbook closer to his body as he usually did whenever someone inquired after his art, even if said someone was his best friend of four years. “Nothing,” he said, before relenting and pulling it back down, allowing Joe to scoot in closer and sneak a look. “Just those two over there.”

He gestured across the poop deck to his current subjects of study: a father holding up his young daughter to the railing, both overlooking the sea. He’d done his best to capture their silhouettes against the afternoon sun and the subtle yet clear delight of anyone not used to the open ocean, but the man’s moustache was still giving him a hard time; facial hair had never been his strong point.

Joe hummed in approval as he looked upon the sketch. “Not half bad,” he said, nodding. “Maybe keep working on the moustache, though. Looks like he’s got a damn caterpillar crossing his face.”

Adil just rolled his eyes. “I know, I know,” he said, pressing his finger against the damned section; without it, he really did feel like it captured their likeness very well. “I’ll work on it.” He went back to his sketchbook, smoothing out the offending piece of facial hair and reworking it with delicate strokes of his conte crayon, when a movement from in front of him caught his eye and he looked up.

The moment he did, his eyes fell upon a young man standing on the deck across from him, and his breath caught in his throat.

Adli knew it was wrong of him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from him. He looked like a figure from one of those sweeping romantic novels, with his wavy hair and well-fitted suit; the sullen look he wore as he gazed across the water with his jaw held tight did nothing to dispel the notion. His hand itched for his pencil again, praying that the handsome stranger would stand still just long enough for him to capture his likeness with a few short strokes.

Just as he flipped the page, however, the man turned to look at him.

Instantly, Adil felt his face flush, and he looked back down to the blank page, silently berating himself for the shameless voyeurism he was exhibiting. When he tried to lift his gaze, the man had already looked away again—but then his head turned, and their gazes properly met, neither of them being able to look away first. His eyes were sharp and curious, and Adil had no idea what color they were supposed to be; were they a deep green or a light brown? He needed to find out.

The sound of footsteps became louder, and this time the mystery man was the first to look away as a young woman in a large pink hat approached him and took his arm, mouthing something at him that Adil couldn’t quite catch. He sighed, closing his eyes, and began sniping back at her as they walked away.

“It’s never gonna happen, Adil.”

Adil tore his gaze away from the couple to catch Joe looking at him with a pitying grin. “I was just looking,” he said, holding his sketchbook close to his body. “Isn’t a man allowed to look?”

“You know that ‘just looking’ can get you in a whole load of trouble.”

“Then maybe it’s worth the trouble.”

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. “This just in: Quote, Adil Joshi, twenty-four, a fool for love. End quote.”

Adil smacked his arm. “It’s not _love_ _,_ Joe,” he said, though a small part of him was certain he was trying to convince himself more than his friend. “Don’t be silly.”

Dinner that evening was a most wretched affair.

Toby hardly remembered the dishes that flew in and out, the numerous courses, soups and salads and grandiose entrees sandwiched with drink after drink; the conversation around him was flying in one ear and out the other. Theresa was on his right, like earlier, giggling about fancy estates and Irish Hunters and God knew what else in between bites of lamb and sole and fresh crab. His mother was alternately laughing along with whatever Lucian had to say and exchanging mindless conversation with the American couple dining alongside them. The perfect image of genteel propriety.

Toby took another swig of wine.

He could see it now. This was to be his life, once they returned home after their romp around the States—endless dinner dates and cricket matches, polite laughter and his wife constantly on his arm. With any luck, he’d get his doctorate and a tenured position, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he’d still have to come home every night to—

“…oh, yes, quite,” said his mother in response to a comment Toby hadn’t been aware of, too busy working on his fourth glass of Beaujolais. “Why, by the time I had Freddie and Toby, I—”

“Excuse me,” he said perhaps too loudly, knocking back the rest of his glass before staggering to his feet. Vaguely, he could hear someone calling out for him, but he hardly processed it as he exited the stifling dining room and out into the cool night air.

No sooner did he take his first few steps onto the deck than he collapsed against the railing, gasping for breath as his heart beat a relentlessly harsh tattoo against his chest. Of _course_ the bloody woman had to mention _children,_ he thought as he ripped the bowtie from his throat in a fruitless attempt to get more air _._ He was certain he could deal with the other gruesome realities of marriage—the niceties, the meaningless chatter and empty kisses—but that was a whole other matter unto their own. Because for children to occur, he would have to—he and Theresa—

The bile rose to his throat, and he barely managed to choke back a sob, bitter tears welling in his eyes.

It was so unfair, really. At least women had the option to just lie back and think of England, but he had no such fortune; if he wanted to keep up the charade that he actually cared for Theresa, he’d have to be mentally present for the entire sordid affair. He could try and put it off, if he wanted; he could fake a headache on the wedding night and feign sickness every other time she was in the mood, but he knew that wouldn’t last forever, and that sooner or later she’d find out that _something_ was wrong with him, something he himself couldn’t even figure out—why in God’s name he had reached the age of twenty-two without ever wanting to touch a woman—

This time, the sobs did burst forward.

Damn him, he thought, curling up onto himself, and damn this life, damn this inescapable path he was on—

He couldn’t live like this.

He _wouldn’t_ live like this.

Toby found himself staggering towards the stern of the ship, the crash of the waves getting stronger with each step he took. No longer were there any thoughts crowding his mind beyond _this_ _has to_ _end, this_ _has to_ _end._ He was pure panic and desperation, and he was going to escape the only way he knew how.

His feet found the railing; he climbed up, fumbling from the wine and panic, until he was standing on the ship’s slick white railing, leaning against the gunwale and overlooking the aft.

The waves crashed dark and high below him, sending up sprays of foam. The propellors kept up their churn, sending a wake sprawling forward. It would be so easy, he thought as he tightly gripped the railing behind him. It should be so easy, to simply let go and—

“That’s an awful long fall, sir.”

Toby whipped his head around; behind him stood the young man from this afternoon, though in the darkness it was hard to make out his expression.

“Stand back!” he said, his fingers tightening around the rail. “Don’t—don’t you dare come any closer, I’m warning you!” The man, clearly ignoring him, took a tentative step forward, into the faint aft lights; this time, he was close enough that Toby could see the pity written all over his face. _Disgusting._ “I’ll jump if you do, I swear it.”

The man kept moving forward and extended his arm towards him. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered in a soft and accented baritone. “Take my hand, it’s not too late.”

Toby steeled his jaw. “It is,” he said. “You don’t understand how much I want this.”

“No, you don’t.”

Toby narrowed his eyes. “How dare you say that?”

“Because if you really wanted to die,” he said, “you would have jumped by now. Now take my hand.”

Toby just looked at it as he continued to brace himself against the railing.

The man took a deep breath, closing his eyes and furrowing his thick, sculpted brows. When he opened his eyes again, Toby noticed just how deep they were. Like the ocean beneath him, but flecked with the warmth of the lamps. “Please, sir,” he whispered, “at least tell me what’s troubling you. It can’t be good to hold it all to yourself.”

Toby sighed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time someone asked him how he was feeling.

All he could say at first was, “I’m engaged to be married.”

“Oh.” Strangely enough, he didn’t instantly jump to congratulating him, like all his school mates and family did when he’d made the announcement. It was… oddly comforting. “And is she… pardon me for asking, but is she an unpleasant person?”

“No, no, not in the slightest,” said Toby, fighting the urge to wave his hands around and risk tumbling down. He didn’t want to—not yet, at least. “She’s a very nice girl, if you can stomach hours of chatter about horses.” He sighed. “No, she’s not the issue, it’s just—”

“Just what, sir?”

His stomach churned as he weighed the words he was about to say. He’d never before spoken them to anyone; he’d hardly even admitted it to himself.

“I don’t want to marry her,” he said. “I don’t know why, but I just—I don’t. I don’t even think I want to marry _any_ girl at all.” He laughed bitterly. “God, I must be sick.”

The man shook his head, a few more strands of his black hair falling into his forehead. “It’s not sick at all,” he said softly, looking up at him with those warm eyes of his. “In fact…” He paused, looking behind him for a split second before continuing. “…I have no wish to be married, either.” He smiled, and his whole face seemed to glow. “I’m a bit of a confirmed bachelor myself, as they say.”

Toby just gazed at him, his eyes wide and his heart thundering in his chest—but this time the panic never came. “What’s your name?”

“Adil,” he said plainly. “Adil Joshi.”

The name settled itself in his heart as he spoke. “I’m Toby,” he said. “Er, Toby Hamilton.” He found himself leaning away from the water. “And you’re saying there’s really a life for… men like us?”

Adil smiled. _My guardian angel,_ Toby thought despite himself. “Well, Toby Hamilton,” he said, and God, his name had never sounded sweeter, “give me your hand, and I can show you.”

All the sorrow from the past few minutes seemed to wash away as Toby looked at Adil’s hand, still outstretched and inviting. He’d never wanted to be more alive than he did right now.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll take it.”

Carefully, he undid his left hand from the railing and stuck it out. Adil wasted no time in grabbing onto it and helping him forward, catching him around the shoulders as his feet slipped and he nearly did meet his end at sea.

“Christ!” he yelped as he fell forward from the railing, right onto Adil. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s alright,” said Adil, still refusing to let go, “you have nothing to be sorry for.” When Toby didn’t move, he shifted a hand to look at him. “Toby, are you alright?”

“I…” Toby’s breaths were coming fast again as he looked back out to the railing, to the deep churning ocean. Now that he wanted to live again, it had never looked more terrifying. “I can’t believe—I almost really did—”

“Toby, breathe,” he whispered, gently seating him down against the railing. “Slowly in…” Toby took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “…and out.” Adil’s hand settled on his shoulder as he exhaled. “Good. Just like that.”

Toby held onto him as he continued to take deep breaths, Adil’s presence slowly grounding him back to reality. The air was cool and salty, the night was young, and his savior was beside him, holding him close. He could stay like this for a while, he thought, as he turned to look at him. He didn’t have to go quite yet—

“Oh, Toby!”

Toby’s thoughts were interrupted when he found himself with an armful of Theresa, sobbing into his shoulder. “Oh, thank God!” she wailed, wrapping her arms tightly around him; all he could do was shoot Adil an apologetic glance. _The fiancée. Sorry._ “You had me so worried, running off like that! I thought something horrible had happened to you!”

“Erm, yes, well…” He gently patted her back before letting go and standing them both up. “It was really nothing, dear. Just needed to clear my head.”

Theresa nodded, eyes wide and shiny with tears, before turning her head towards Adil, still awkwardly sitting on the deck. “Toby, who is this man?”

“Oh, er, that’s… Joshi.” He snuck a glance back at the other man, who just shrugged. “Adil Joshi. He… he saved me from a rather nasty accident.”

“ _An accident?_ ”

“Theresa, dear, it was nothing!” He frantically waved his hands. “I told you, I was just on a walk to clear my head, when I took a nasty tumble and nearly fell overboard. And Mr. Joshi… caught me. In time.”

Theresa blinked, turning her head from Adil to her fiancé and back at him. “Is it true?” she asked. When Adil tentatively nodded, she flung herself into his arms, pulling him up into a fierce hug. “Oh, thank you so much for saving his life, Mr. Joshi!”

“It was nothing,” he muttered. Theresa pulled away, but not before giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

“What a good man he is,” she said, wiping away the last of her tears. “Toby, don’t you think we should pay him back? For his kindness?”

“Oh.” In all honesty, compensation had never really crossed his mind, as he was mostly just thankful to be alive, but he did suppose it would be a bit rude for Adil to leave empty-handed. “Right, hang on, I should have something—”

Adil waved him off. “No thank you, I don’t—I don’t need your money.”

Toby paused, glancing at Theresa. “Well, in that case…”

“In that case, why don’t you join us for dinner tomorrow evening!” she said, clapping her hands together. “I’d love to get to know you better, and I’m sure Lady Hamilton and Mr. D’Abberville would love to meet the man who saved their son’s life, no?”

Adil bit his lips, looking at them both with furrowed brows. “Alright,” he finally said with a nod. “I shall see you then.”

“Excellent!” With one last nod, she grabbed Toby’s arm and began making the way back to their suite. “Take care, Mr. Joshi!”

“Good night,” said Toby, twisting around long enough to meet his gaze. “And thank you, Adil. Truly.”

Adil looked back at him as he was whisked away, fondly enough to make Toby’s heart skip a beat. “You’re welcome, Toby.”

As soon as they were settled in their room, Theresa approached him once more.

“I know you’ve been so melancholy,” she said, delicately trailing her hand over his arm. “And I won’t pretend I understand it all, but…” She glanced down at the floor. “I just wished I understood.”

Toby grabbed her hand, if only to still its movement. “There’s nothing to understand,” he said. “Just a rough night, Theresa.”

She looked back up at him, her gaze all bittersweet. “You can talk to me, you know,” she said. “I know we’re not officially wed yet, but if I can be there for you in any capacity… I just want to see you happy again, sweetest. Is that too much to ask?”

He cracked a faint smile. “And I shall come to you with any concerns I have, should they arise,” he said, before bending down and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. Because they were to be wed. Because it was his duty.

Seemingly satisfied, Theresa kissed him on his own cheek before departing for the bath, leaving him all alone in their room for the first time in two days.

Sighing, he leaned back against the wall, running his hand through his hair. It wasn’t fair, was it? He’d meant what he said earlier; Theresa really was a sweet girl, if not a bit talkative; he was sure that in another life they would have made great friends had his mother not practically forced them together for the sake of their families.

Theresa was blessedly taking her time in the bath, meaning he had time to reach towards the safe resting in their room (officially his stepfather’s, but enough of his valuables were there that it was entrusted to his bedroom) and open it, reaching for the delicate velvet box stored within its cold, metal walls.

He didn’t need to open it to know precisely what lay inside; he had gazed at the ornate pendant for what seemed like ages before his mother had agreed that it was a fine gift befitting a fine young lady like Theresa. The mesmerizing blue of the heart of the ocean was burned into his eyes, its heart-shaped jewel dangling like a promise, or an omen, of things to come.

And yet, despite himself, tonight he no longer thought about his fiancée as he held the box in his hand.

He was thinking of Adil.


	3. More Than Any Laws Allow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for their kind comments so far! It really means a lot <3 I hope these next chapters don't disappoint!  
> Also, introducing: 50% of the reason why this fic is rated M. Enjoy? ;)

_Hamilton pauses in his storytelling, taking a moment to reflect on his words._

_“Looking back, I think that’s when I first knew,” he says, glancing down at the table._

_Fleischman hums, turning over the last half hour of story in her head. They’ve just gotten to the origin of the heart of the ocean, but already it feels so much more grandiose. She can already see the headlines as they break: LONG-LOST TREASURE WRAPPED UP IN SHOCKING GAY AFFAIR. Her search would be completely overshadowed by the scandal. Though, frankly, it’s a hell of a lot more interesting than what she expected._

_“You mean, when you knew you were…” She leaves the sentence open-ended, not sure which term he prefers after being alive for so much of history._

_“Gay? Yes.” He settles back. “Though of course we didn’t have such nice words for it back then, and I was perhaps still too scared of the truth to fully admit it to myself. But Adil… he awakened something in me that night. And though I didn’t know exactly what it was, I knew I had to see him again.”_

_“How romantic,” says Koizumi, leaning her head on her shoulder. “Wait, uh, boss, what time is it?”_

_Fleischman checks her watch. “Three thirty-two,” she says, feeling the blood drain from her face. Shit, this guy’s just been talking for over an hour with no break! “Oh, man, Mr. Hamilton, I am so sorry, I completely lost track of time there! We can stop for the day, if you want—”_

_“It’s quite alright,” he says, “I could talk all day. But, perhaps, if that would interfere with your work, we should stop.”_

_“Sir, right now listening to you is my work.”_

_He pauses, pursing his lips. “Very well, I shan’t keep you too long from it,” he says. “Shall we first take a break, perhaps? Tea and biscuits?”_

_“We only have Lipton and bagels.”_

_“It’ll suffice.”_

_With that, Fleischman pauses the tape, and the little ensemble gets up, ready to head out of the lab and to a less restricted section of the ship where an errant breadcrumb won’t cause such a fuss. As Hamilton gingerly stands up, though, the sun reflects off something on his left hand, nearly blinding her for a moment. As she squints, she realizes it’s a plain gold band, resting on his ring finger._

_“Nice ring you have there,” she says, passing him his cane from where it’s resting against the table. “Forgive me for asking, though, but I thought you were a bachelor?”_

_Hamilton grins as he accepts the_ _cane_ _and they begin to shuffle out. “Only legally.”_

_“The next day was Saturday, the thirteenth of April.”_

_After a short break over cheap bagged tea and a box of Thin Mints that Koizumi had smuggled aboard, the team is back in the lab with the tape recorder running again. Truly, they have no reason to be in this specific room—there are other places where they can record and lounge in more comfort—but the lab is familiar and Hamilton insists on it, if only because his portrait is still too fragile to be moved out just yet._

_“It felt as if it were the first day of my life,” he continues; his hands are gently resting together as he speaks, his ring glowing softly once more in the afternoon light. “The sun felt brighter and the air sweeter than it had been in years. I was alive, by some miracle, and all I wanted to do was meet that miracle of a man once more…”_

There wasn’t much to do on the steerage deck, but Adil and Joe still found ways to pass the time.

The common room was, as usual, filled to the brim with passengers going about their lives. Someone was banging out “The Entertainer” on the rickety old piano tucked into the corner as loud conversations erupted in several languages and women chased after their children. Joe was walking around the room, trying to get as many “human interest” stories as he could from the passengers, while Adil was relaxing on one of the benches with Miss Tzipi Klein, the little girl from yesterday; she had seen the sketch he had done of her and her father, became instantly enamored, and had insisted they draw together in his notebook. They didn’t have a single language between them, but thankfully art and childishness were universally understood ideas.

Adil watched as she picked up the pencil and scribbled a fat zigzag of a moustache across the face she had just been drawing. “Papa,” she said with a wicked grin, pointing at her father, who was in the middle of being interrogated by Joe about his culinary career. Mr. Klein noticed the two of them, gently shaking his head with a little smile upon seeing his likeness.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Adil looked up from the silly sketches to meet the eyes of Toby Hamilton, standing at the foot of the bench. He looked completely out of place with his neat hair and smart clothes, even if the jacket was a size too large, but Adil’s heart skipped a beat all the same. “Toby,” he said, pleasant as always. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too,” he said to the floor, fiddling with the little gold ring around his pinky. “Look, could we speak for a moment? In private?”

Adil paused, sneaking a glance at Joe, who flashed a bright smile and mouthed “go for it” at him. “Of course,” he said, carefully tearing the page he and Tzipi were doodling on and handing it to her with a little wave. She giggled, scooting closer to her mother. “I’ll be right out.”

He could have sworn Toby seemed almost relieved as he stood up and followed him out to the deck.

The early afternoon sun shone on them pleasantly from high in the sky as they walked side by side on the first-class deck, hardly speaking at first and only sneaking furtive glances. Around them, other passengers were looking at them curiously, possibly wondering what brought this odd couple together.

“So,” Adil finally said after their long silence, looking at Toby once more. “Erm, what did you wish to speak with me about?”

Toby sighed, steeling his jaw. “I just…” His words trailed off, and he glanced at the ocean beside them. “I just wanted to thank you, I guess. For…” He finally looked back at Adil. “For last night. For pulling me back in.” He scoffs. “God, I have to work myself up all morning just to see you, and all I do is say thank you.”

“Please, it’s no problem at all,” said Adil, resting a hand on his shoulder, trying not to read too much in how Toby seemed to lean into his touch. “And you’re welcome. Truly.”

“I don’t know what you must be thinking of me.” Toby’s hands began wildly waving around as he spoke. “Poor little rich boy, trying to fling himself off a boat for _getting married!_ It’s all so absurd, I’m sure.”

“It’s not absurd at all,” he said. “Believe you me, if my parents tried to set me up with some girl I didn’t love, I’d throw myself overboard as well.”

A flock of seagulls passed overhead, crying softly as they circled their heads.

“Truth be told, it’s a bit my fault,” said Toby. “Mother was the one who pushed Theresa and I together, but I still proposed to her in the end.”

“Why?”

Toby’s shoulders stiffened under his touch. “Because if it wasn’t _her,_ then it would be some other girl, and, God, I don’t know, I just wanted Mother to leave me alone for once. Thought that if I finally went sweet on someone she’d shut up and leave me be.” He ducked his head. “How foolish of me.”

“But you proposed?”

“Yes, I know, trust me that I regret it just as much as—”

“No, I mean, it was your choice.” Toby raised an eyebrow. “You asked her to marry you, so you could just call it off.”

“No,” said Toby sharply, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just—” He huffed, plopping himself down onto one of the steamer chairs. Adil sat down beside him, laying his sketchbook on his lap. “I just can’t, Adil. I’m sorry.”

To that, he didn’t have an answer. He wished he did, though, but tragically the complicated angst of the upper classes always seemed to escape him.

Toby, clearly looking for a change of subject, chose to gesture to his sketchbook. “So. What have you got in there?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, flipping it open to the first page, “just some sketches. Nothing special.”

“May I?”

Adil scooted in closer, and Toby took the book from him, slowly beginning to flip through the pages. Normally, Adil would object to anyone carelessly looking through his sketches like that—it was almost like he was baring his soul to them—but the way Toby took his time over each drawing strangely raised no objections from him.

“Wow,” he whispered, looking at the drawing from yesterday of Mr. Klein and his daughter at the rail. “And you did these all yourself?”

“Well, yes.”

He looked up. “Adil, these are amazing!” Adil ducked his head, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Really. They’re really good.”

“Thank you,” he said, “but, well, it’s not much. Just studies, really.” Toby hummed, continuing to turn the pages. “They just come to me naturally, I suppose.”

“What a gift,” he said, and then stopped, his eyes going wide and his mouth left open. “Oh. Oh, wow.”

Adil’s heart stopped. He knew _exactly_ what pages Toby was looking at. “Toby, I can explain,” he began, having absolutely no way to explain away why he had several pages worth of naked men in his sketchbook.

“You… drew these all from life?” he said, slowly and deliberately as if choosing each word on the fly.

Adil rubbed the back of his neck. “Er, they’re art students,” he said. “Back in Paris. It was anatomy studies, you see, we’d… we’d pose for each other. Learn how to draw the human figure.”

Toby hummed, carefully turning the page away from the eyes of the other passengers. He raised an eyebrow, tracing a finger over one of the figures.

“You drew this man a lot.”

Roman had been an interesting case from the moment Adil first met him. Whereas his other artist friends had varying degrees of shame about posing nude for someone else, he had seemed to lack it altogether, lounging on Adil’s threadbare sofa with a sort of ease and carelessness. His eyes had hardly left Adil’s throughout the entire session, and it had made his chest heavy in a way he couldn’t yet describe. When they had finished, he had barely finished getting dressed before bending over Adil and kissing him, whispering “ _à_ _bientôt_ ” against his lips with a smirk before departing, leaving Adil full of realization and longing.

Adil nodded, his hands clammy as he looked over the sketch, the memories washing over him. “We were friends, in a sense,” he said.

All pretense of being platonic had been dropped with their second session. Roman had been openly shameless, looking up from beneath his dark lashes and spreading his legs, exposing everything—and it was one thing to draw anatomy for practice, but this had been nothing short of seductive. It had worked, of course; one flick of the wrist and Adil was upon him, pressing furious kisses against his mouth, his jaw, and lower still until he reached—

It was France. They had nothing to risk but the social stigma.

“I think this is my favorite,” said Toby, rousing him from his musings. Blinking, Adil spotted which one Toby was pointing at—a figure laying on his stomach, sunlit curls falling into his eyes as he rested his head on his arms. “He looks peaceful.”

Adil smiled. “It’s my favorite, too,” he whispered. He’d drawn it one evening after their exertions, watching contently as Roman slept with the faintest of smiles on his face. When he had woke up, he’d simply smirked and pulled Adil back in for another round.

That had been one of the few he had committed to canvas; it had sold nicely.

His smile dropped a bit, though, as he remembered what had followed. “We lost touch, though,” he said, glancing away from the suggestive drawings. “Joe—my friend, the American—had found work in London, and I thought it would be nice to accompany him and familiarize him. And Roman and I just…” He shrugged. “It is what it is.”

They had not, in fact, just lost contact. Roman had lost his temper, insisting that if Adil truly loved him, he would stay by his side, no matter how many times Adil had promised to write to him, to keep in contact until his return to Paris. When Adil had tried to make the argument that he loved him _because_ he wanted to stay in touch, Roman had traced a hand over his chest and insisted that he couldn’t fuck him over letters.

Realizing that their whole affair had nothing to do with love and just the physicality, Adil had swiftly ordered him to leave, before getting trashed on brandy with Joe that evening. He hadn’t remembered everything he’d said under the influence, but it must have been more than proper; the next morning, Joe had reassured him that there’d be a fella for him somewhere over his third cup of coffee. Empty sentiments, but nice all the same.

Toby’s shoulders dropped, and he closed the sketchbook. “I hope we don’t lose touch,” he said, looking down at the leather cover. “You’re far too interesting a person for me to forget you.” Adil smiled to himself. “I’m serious! You’re the only person here besides Emma who hasn’t made me want to throw myself overboard.”

“You wouldn’t have done it anyway,” he whispered. Toby rolled his eyes and punched him in the shoulder. “Ow! Fair. But as long as we’re both here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Toby hummed, leaning back in his chair. “Then let’s stay awhile, shall we?”

Joe was right, Adil thought to himself with a little smile as the sun set. He really _was_ a fool for love, and it was the most wondrous feeling ever.

The two had spent the entire afternoon just strolling around the deck and conversing with each other; Toby had talked of his precious mathematics (“It’s silly, Adil, but it’s always been my dream to become a researcher and just teach for the rest of my life—”) and Adil had regaled him with the drama of his sojourns around the world (“Lovely city, but I have never feared more for my coin purse than in beautiful Paree—”), and now the two were curled up in the chairs again as Toby read from the E. M. Forster novel he’d been carrying around with him. _A Room_ _With_ _a View_ was the title—some “silly little romantic romp” between the classes, but sweet and well-written all the same, and they’d somehow managed to reach the end in one sitting.

“He gave her a sense of deities reconciled,” read Toby, “a feeling that, in gaining the man she loved, she would gain something for the whole world.” He paused to shift a bit, resting his head on Adil’s shoulders. Wholly improper, but Adil savored the contact nonetheless. “Throughout the squalor of her homeward drive—she spoke at once—his salutation remained. He had robbed the body of its taint, the world’s taunts of their sting; he had shown her the holiness of direct desire. She ‘never exactly understood,’ she would say in after years, ‘how he managed to strengthen her. It was as if he had made her see the whole of everything at once.’”

Dimly, Adil wondered if that sentiment rang a bell with Toby just as much as it did for him, if Toby could relate to the conflicts of Lucy Honeychurch and Mr. Emerson as well as he could. Instead, he chose to slip an arm around his waist, thrilling when Toby leaned into his embrace. “And that’s the end, I presume?”

“No, not quite,” said Toby, snuggling in closer. “There’s a whole epilogue later on where they elope to Italy.”

“Italy, eh?” It was a fitting choice on behalf of Mr. Forster; men like them were no longer criminal in Italy. “You reckon we have time to—”

“Toby.”

Toby slammed the book shut, hastily wriggling out of Adil’s grasp as two women came into their field of view. “Er, good evening,” he said, standing up and straightening his jacket. “Emma. Mother.”

Adil stiffened. He had noticed the similar dark hair and inquisitive eyes, yes, but he hadn’t figured that—God, he had been sitting like that with Toby in front of his—

Lady Hamilton, for her part, just arched a single eyebrow as Toby continued. “May I introduce you to Adil Joshi?” He swept his hand in Adil’s direction, his eyes not once leaving his mother’s. “You understand, he’s the man who—”

“—saved your life from that nasty fall, yes,” she finished, her expression unreadable. The other woman—Emma, was it?—seemed unbothered, however, and nodded her head in Adil’s direction with a soft smile. “How kind of him. I suppose we shall see more of him tonight, then?”

“Quite,” he said, standing up. “Better go get changed, I suppose.” As mother and son departed, Toby shot one last grin Adil’s way. “I’ll see you at dinner, Adil.”

“See you tonight,” he replied, feeling giddy at the prospect.

Emma, for her part, lingered around. “You’ll be joining us tonight then, Mr. Joshi?”

“Well, er, I suppose so, Miss…”

“Garland,” she answered. She looked much kinder than he’d expected, perhaps, of the rich sort; at the very least, she actually bothered to smile at him. “Emma Garland.”

“Then I suppose so, Miss Garland.” He shrugged. “It was at his fiancée's suggestion. She thought it would be a kind gesture.”

“A kind gesture indeed,” she said, “if you came prepared, that is.” She raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

Adil faltered, opening his mouth before he even knew what he was about to say. Because in all honesty, both he and Emma already knew the answer.

She clicked her tongue. “Figures,” she said. “Well, come on then. We’ll get something sorted out, I’m sure…”

“Sorted out” turned out to mean hitting up stateroom after stateroom in search of something suitable, before a kind Polish friend of hers confessed that her husband and Adil were of roughly the same measurements and that they just so happened to have a nice white tie ensemble to spare. It had fit almost perfectly, although Mr. Radimsky was a bit roomier in the chest than he was, meaning he still needed to compensate with a pair of sleeve garters.

“There we are.” Emma stepped back, having finished adjusting his tie. “Gives every man I know their fair share of problems. I haven’t met a single one who knew how to properly tie it on the first go.”

With the ensemble put together, Adil glanced at himself in the mirror, and was startled to see the gentleman looking back at him. With his slicked-back hair and crisp white tie, he hardly looked like the starving artist he was. He almost looked like he could blend in with their world.

“My, my,” said Emma, “you clean up quite nicely.”

“Good evening, sir.”

Adil nodded at the steward as the door was opened for him—perhaps too kindly, he thought as he stepped into the opulence of First Class. Rich people didn’t usually smile at the staff.

But that was behind him, and now here he was, right in the center of their world.

The grand staircase loomed to his side, all dark wood and art nouveau railings. Above his head shone the brilliant domed skylight, illuminated by an ornate crystal chandelier that dangled precociously over their heads. All around him, men and women were gathered around the atrium in their opulent evening dresses and sharp suits, clustered around each other as they idly chatted; a few gave him a perfunctory nod, but most of them turned their eyes away from him, as if trying to ignore the only coloured man in the entire party.

He felt like such a spy as he walked around in borrowed clothes, in desperate search of a familiar face.

“Mr. Joshi!”

Adil’s head turned, and instantly the entire affair felt justified when he saw Toby’s beaming face rush into view—even if Theresa did insist on hanging off his arm. “Hamilton,” he said cheerily, sticking out his hand. “Lovely to see you tonight.”

“And you as well,” said Toby, politely shaking his hand—though perhaps holding on for a little longer than socially acceptable. “I hardly recognized you in this getup—but it suits you,” he added, quickly glancing up and down at him.

It took all Adil’s willpower to not throw himself at him right then and there, legality be damned. Instead, he just tilted his head up at him before delicately grabbing Theresa’s hand and pressing a kiss to it, imagining it was Toby’s ink-stained fingers he was holding instead. “Lovely to see you again, Miss Buchanan.”

She giggled, her hand still held out in front of her. “Oh, I like this one, Toby.”

“That’s the Countess Rothes over there,” said Emma, pointing a finger at another impeccably dressed woman at the reception, all satin and silks. Adil nodded, trying to follow the onslaught of the guests. “And over there is John Jacob Astor—richest man aboard, I’ve heard it said.”

“And his wife,” said Toby, wrinkling his nose. “God, what is she, just around your age, Em?”

“Younger,” she said. “And expecting their first child, it’s all so _scandalous_.”

“Moving on—” Toby pointed out another mismatched couple among the throng. “Those are the Guggenheims, I believe.”

“No, that’s Mr. Guggenheim and Madame what’s-her-face,” said Emma. “Mrs. Guggenheim is, as usual—”

“At home with the children,” they both finished in unison, giggling as if the sordid love lives of the upper class were just mere trifles and idle gossip.

Adil shook his head. “It’s all horrifying, isn’t it?”

“It’s not our business,” said Toby, glancing around the room and double-checking that Theresa and Lady Hamilton were still engrossed in deep conversation with the Countess.

Emma leaned forward, resting a hand on Adil’s shoulder. “It’s why you should never marry,” she whispered.

“Your Lordship!” To practically everyone’s surprise, over sauntered Mr. Astor himself, holding out a hand to Toby. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about you.”

“Oh, er, His Lordship is still skulking around in Leicester, I’m afraid.” Nevertheless, Toby shook the man’s hand. “I’m just the honorable Toby Hamilton.”

“Still don’t think I’ve ever met an honorable before,” he said, turning his attention to the other guests. “And who are these, uh, lovely folks?”

“Miss Emma Garland and Mr. Adil Joshi.”

“Joshi.” Astor furrowed his brow as he took Adil in. “What kind of name is that?”

Too overwhelmed with the sheer amount of upper class (and Toby’s arm gently resting on his shoulder), he said the first thing that came to mind: “Oh, it’s Brahmin, sir.”

“Brahmin?” Astor looked puzzled for a second, before his face transformed into one of awe. “Ah, _Boston_ Brahmin, aren’t we?” He clicked his tongue, grinning in approval. “That’s quite a story there.”

As soon as he left, he turned to Toby. “I have no idea what he’s talking about,” he whispered.

“Neither do I, honest.”

“It’s an American thing, don’t worry yourselves too much over it,” said Emma. “Now let’s head down, I’m _starving_.”

If rubbing elbows with the wealthy was nerve-wracking, dining with them was an absolute nightmare. 

Adil finally had the delight of meeting Lucian D’Abberville, Toby’s most charming stepfather of a few months. He was all cold smiles and careful nods, and he seemed to make it his life’s work to make Adil’s just a little harder for the next few hours. 

“Steerage treating you kindly, Joshi?” he asked, the smile on his face not reaching his eyes as the first course was placed in front of them. “Heard the accommodations are rather fine.” 

“Oh, they’re delightful,” said Adil, noticing the way everyone seemed to drop their napkins to their laps. Inconvenient, but he mirrored their actions all the same. 

D’Abberville beamed, before turning to the rest of the dinner party. “Mr. Joshi is joining us from third class, you see,” he said, “at Mr. Hamilton’s insistence, no less.” Around them, the guests began to murmur, sneaking glances at him that alternated between shocked and scandalized. “You ever had foie gras before, Joshi?” 

Obviously he never did, but Adil wasn’t going to give him the straight answer he was looking for. “Oh, you know,” he said, staring at the overwhelming array of silverware beside the plate, “I did spend many a year travelling across France. Paris, mainly, but Gascony was lovely in the summertime.” He was trying to remember—did he start from the outside in, or the inside out? 

“Gascony,” said Toby across from him, taking a furtive sip of wine before making a show of grabbing the outermost fork. Relieved, Adil followed suit and took a small bite, trying not to be visibly overwhelmed at the strong, fatty taste. “How lovely, I’ve always wanted to visit the French countryside.” 

“How is it that you have the means to travel?” asked Priscilla with a furrowed brow, as the liver was whisked away and replaced with a light salad. 

“Well, I wouldn’t call it travelling as much as wandering to wherever I’m needed.” Adil picked up the next outermost fork and saw Toby give a small nod of approval. Outside in it was, then. “I work odd jobs wherever I go around the world. Really, I’m just drifting at the will of the Gods. At God’s will,” he corrected, raising a finger, hoping his polite smile would hide his terror at not being as perfectly monotheistic as the rest of the diners. 

“And this… nomadic lifestyle is one you find appealing?” 

Adil shrugged. “What can I say? It’s a grand world out there, and I don’t want to limit myself to one experience. My family, we’ve mostly kept to our little corner of the world, but I couldn’t stay in one place unless you gave me good reason.” He took a sip of wine; he already forgot the name, but it was crisp and white. “You only have one chance to experience this particular life; why not make it count?” 

Toby raised his glass. “Couldn’t have said it better,” he said, beaming back at him. “To making this life count, then?” 

“To this life,” said Emma, similarly raising hers as the entire table partook in their little toast. 

Perhaps, thought Adil as their glasses rang together, this wouldn’t be nearly as harsh as he’d thought. 

“You won’t be staying with us?”

Adil shrugged as the dessert plates were wheeled away, much to Toby’s chagrin. “I’m afraid I must leave for the evening,” he said. “Radimsky will be wanting his suit back—and anyway, I was always here on borrowed time.” He smiled sadly. “Hope we meet again soon, Mr. Hamilton.”

And with that, he departed—but, to Toby’s surprise, not before slipping a tiny note into his hands.

Checking to see that no one was looking, Toby unfolded it beneath the table. Instantly, his face lit up when he realized what the contents were.

_Don’t be a stranger. Meet at common room for the time of your life. Bring Miss Garland if you wish._

As soon as Toby entered the common room, he knew he was in for something entirely different.

The gentle classical music had been swapped out for a small band plucking out merry tunes on the piano. Just over the music he could make out the sounds of clinking glasses, raucous laughter, and the footsteps of the dancers around him.

Beside him, Emma giggled. “Never seen a real party before?”

“Sorry?”

“I said,” she repeated, raising her voice over the band, “you’ve never seen a real party before, have you?”

“You must be the newcomers, then?” The two’s attention was taken away by Adil’s American friend, sauntering up with a large glass bottle full of a creamy yellow liquid. “We were wondering when you’d show up.” He raised the bottle. “We’re just getting to the fun bits. Either of you ever have limoncello?”

“Don’t believe I’ve ever heard of it,” said Toby.

“It’s an Italian liqueur,” called out Adil’s voice from behind Joe, before the man finally popped into frame, his angel’s face covered in a light sheen of sweat and his hair beginning to free itself from the pomade. “Grain alcohol infused with lemon peel and diluted with syrup. Makes for a good digestif, and, well, I do believe dinner’s over.” He grinned. “It’s supposed to be served frozen, but seeing as we lack the proper facilities, merely chilled will have to do, I’m afraid.”

Emma surveyed the bottle with some curiosity as Joe began to pour off meager shots. “And where in the world did you get your hands on this?”

“Oh, we didn’t get it,” said Joe, capping it off and cocking his head at Adil. “This one brewed it himself.” He grabbed two glasses and handed them off to Toby and Emma; he perhaps accepted his with a little more enthusiasm than he expected. “Fancies himself a bit of an amateur bartender here.”

“I don’t _fancy_ myself anything.” Adil rolled his eyes as he accepted his shot of liqueur. “I just thought it would be a fun project.”

“And I’m sure it’ll be magnificent,” said Toby, raising his glass. “What shall we drink to, lady and gentlemen?”

“To a good night?” said Joe.

“To friendship,” said Adil, catching Toby's eye.

“To love,” said Emma. Toby turned to look at her. “What? It’s a universal sentiment!”

Adil grinned. “I’ll take it,” he said, and they all clinked their glasses. “To love.”

“Cheers!”

With that, Toby tilted his glass back and drank.

The lemon instantly hit his palate, and he nearly winced before the sweet syrupiness of the sugar threw itself into the mix, making the whole thing taste rather like a lemon drop—a very intoxicating lemon drop.

“ _Gah._ ” He slammed down his glass, already feeling the hooch go to his head. “It’s so _sweet._ ”

“Of course,” said Adil pleasantly. “That’s why I thought you’d like it.”

“Why, you little—” He wrinkled his nose, trying to be displeased that Adil was so correct in his assessment, but a laugh bubbled up to the surface all the same. “My God, Adil, you really _are_ playing at bartender.” He raised his empty glass. “I’ll take more limoncello if you please.”

“This is good liqueur, Toby, I can’t just waste it on—”

“It’s a party! Aren’t we supposed to be having a grand time like no other?”

Adil raised a single eyebrow, turning to look at Joe. “Fine. One more round.”

Two more rounds and a glass of beer later, Toby found himself floating around the room in a delightful haze. The music seemed even more joyous, the laughter merrier, and Adil even more ravishing than he usually was. It really wasn’t fair, he thought to himself as Adil laughed over another one of his stupid jokes. It wasn’t fair that he was set to be engaged to some random lady when Adil was twice as gorgeous as any woman he’d ever met.

Which was all for the best, because just at that moment the band struck up a lively jig and Toby had a wonderful idea.

“Adil,” he said, holding out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

He laughed. “You’re completely pissed, Toby.”

“Am not! I just want to dance, what’s the problem?” He bounced on his feet. “It’s music to dance to and we’re friends, there’s no issue!”

“Insane,” said Adil, but reached out and grabbed his hand all the same. Toby wrapped his arm around Adil’s waist, his heart all aflutter as Adil returned the gesture and they began to dance.

It took a bit of trial and error to get started; both had tried to lead at first, before both trying to follow, but in the end Toby was leading Adil around the room in a merry jig, their feet hardly ever touching the ground as the laughter and cheers of the other guests grew louder around them. Ridiculous, of course—two men weren’t supposed to dance, that was all the liquor talking—but Toby didn’t care, and he certainly didn’t want to stop, not when Adil was in his arms, moving in time with him across the floor—

And all too suddenly, the music stopped.

Around them, the partygoers burst into applause, but Toby was hardly paying them any mind—not when Adil was still wrapped around him, his eyes shining and his hair slipping even further into his eyes; his face—his beautiful face—was close enough that Toby could just lean forward and…

 _…_ _o_ _h._

Toby’s eyes widened, the smile dropping from his face, and Adil suddenly pulled away, a fresh wave of shock and disgust hitting him.

_Oh, God._

“That,” declared Toby as soon as they were outside, “was the best night of my life.”

Adil nodded, not trusting himself to look at him as they crossed the deck to the First Class Entrance, lingering outside in the cool night air.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” was all he could say as he gazed out onto the ocean, praying that the cool crash of the waves and the cold metal of the railing under his hand would bring him back to his senses. “It was hardly anything special, though. I’m sure you’ve been to grander events than this.”

“You promised me the time of my life,” said Toby, bumping his hand against Adil’s on the railing. When Adil looked up, his face was flushed—from drink, he had to remind himself. “I daresay I found it.”

Their faces were agonizingly close. Adil steeled himself, willing himself to stay put; a stronger man would have turned on his heel and left by now, understood that there was no hope between himself and a man of such status—between himself and a _man._

A streak of bright white crossed the sky.

“Look, a shooting star!” Toby’s face blessedly turned away from him, though he foolishly refused to move away from Adil. “Freddie and I always used to wish for the silliest things on these.”

“So did I.” _So_ _do I,_ he thought to himself as Toby met his eyes again, giddy from the adrenaline and alcohol.

Toby blinked, and if Adil hadn’t been imagining things, he could have sworn he was moving closer. “What did you wish for?” he asked, as his hand slowly crept over Adil’s.

It was impossible.

Adil pulled away sharply, turning his back on Toby. “Something I can’t have,” he whispered, folding his arms tight across his body. “Goodnight, Toby.”

And with that, he began the trek back to his cabin, his head held low all the way down.

When he reached his bunk, Joe had already changed down for sleep, sitting on the blanket with a cigarette and a notebook in hand. “So? How did it go?”

“You were right, Joe,” he said, his voice cracking ever so slightly as a lump rose in his throat. “I’m a fool for love.”

Joe’s casual demeanor fell, and he pulled Adil into a solid embrace. Adil could only hold him tightly as the heartbroken tears began to fall.

Would that he had not left so early, had not turned his back and refused to look back as he walked away.

For had Adil been paying attention, had he been listening, he might have seen Toby watch him with sorrowful eyes as he departed; he might have heard his soft and longing farewell:

“Goodnight, Adil.”


	4. Let Beauty Come Out of Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally at the home stretch, guys! Once again, thank you for all the comments, they really make my day every time <3 Anyways, this chapter should be best enjoyed with Debussy's [Arabesque No. 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yh36PaE-Pf0) playing in the background, for all your romantic/impressionist needs.  
> Also introducing: the _other_ 50% of why this fic is rated M. ;)

It all made perfect sense.

Toby knew he probably should have been paying a little more attention to his family as they took breakfast together, but his mind was still racing; it hadn’t calmed down since last night.

“How are you, Toby?” asked Theresa in between dainty little sips of tea. So coy and girly. “You’ve hardly spoken all morning.”

“I’m just tired.” He’d been on enough outings with his Oxford friends to recognize a hangover when one hit him; his head was still pounding after two cups of tea and he could hardly stomach much more than toast and eggs. Of course, to be honest about his condition would be to inadvertently reveal his whereabouts last night, and he couldn’t risk even more ire.

God. _Last night._

He’d had his brief moment of panic, of course, as soon as Adil had pulled away and Toby had processed his realization enough to realize what he wanted was technically against the law, but as the night dragged on, he’d found that worry slowly slipping away the more he thought about his fine features and kind soul and sharp wit. It had been as if something had been unlocked deep inside him the moment Adil looked at him after their dance—nay, the moment he had first taken his hand.

God, Toby should have kissed him on the deck when he had the chance.

“From what?” asked Priscilla. “I’d hardly call last night particularly taxing.”

“It’s really not that,” he said, taking a sip from his third cup of tea—two sugars and a splash of milk.

“Does this have anything to do with your and Miss Garland’s sudden departure?”

Toby nearly spilled his cup. “Mother!” For once, he looked to Theresa for support. “We were just conversing, for God’s sake, you know we would never—”

“Of course not!” she said cheerfully, laying a supportive hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, darling, I trust you.”

Toby smiled back at her. Even if he weren’t—well—even if he _weren’t,_ Emma would still be his last choice of woman; she was more like his sister and still in love with Freddie, for God’s sake. But, of course, the fact of the matter was that more importantly, Emma wasn’t a sensitive artist who’d travelled the world.

He should have kissed him. He really should have kissed him.

“Really, though,” said Theresa once they were back in their room getting ready for the day, “where _were_ you last night?”

“Just a promenade with Miss Garland,” he said, readjusting his tie.

“It had nothing to do with the note Mr. Joshi slipped you?” Toby’s head whipped around; she just giggled. “I’m not stupid, you know. You two spend a lot of time together.”

“I, well, er,” he stammered, the attempted half-Windsor slipping from his grasp, “we’re just… good friends.” 

“I know.” Theresa just hummed as she continued to pin up her hair. “Oh, I do hope he shall return to England one day! I must get to know him better, he’s such a delightful man.”

“As do I.” Oh, how he’d like to get to know Adil better. In the biblical sense, if he could.

His grip on the tie slipped once more.

By the time they had reached the divine service, Toby’s headache had calmed down, but his mind continued to whirl. The captain was leading everyone in a hymn of some sort; he couldn’t be bothered to notice.

He was in love. For perhaps the first time in his life, he was truly in love. And it wasn’t with poor Theresa, nor any other girl; it was with Adil Joshi.

He bowed his head, hoping nobody would notice that he wasn’t singing along.

“ _Oh, hear us when we call to Thee, for those in peril on the sea!_ ”

Toby’s head snapped up.

Adil had… he had nude portraits of his male friends in his sketchbook. He had been so casually affectionate with Toby, all slung arms and side hugs. He had called himself a confirmed bachelor.

_He wished for something he couldn’t have._

Toby’s heart picked up. Could it be? Could Adil really love him back? Had he been loving him this whole time?

Moreover, why hadn’t Toby kissed him!?

The instant services were over, Toby straggled to his feet, not paying attention to whatever remarks his family was surely making as he raced back to the third-class common room; surely he could catch him there, just speak to him again, clear the air—

“Adil!” he called out as soon as he spotted the man, curled up right outside the common room on the deck. “Good morning!”

Adil looked up from his sketchpad; to Toby’s horror, his face fell. “Hamilton,” he said; the name felt like a slap in his face.

“Look, I…” Toby looked down, fiddling with his signet ring. “Adil, I think we need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“No, you don’t understand. Last night—”

“Was a lapse of judgement on my behalf, and I apologize.” Adil stood up, avoiding his gaze. “We don’t ever have to speak again, if it would make you feel safer, sir.”

Toby’s heart sank. “Adil, please, you have to understand—”

“Toby?”

Toby squeezed his eyes shut as Theresa rounded the corner. “I was _wondering_ where you—oh, Mr. Joshi! Good morning!”

A cheery smile suddenly rose to his face. “Morning, Miss Buchanan,” he said, all pleasantries and politeness when just a few moments ago he had seemed close to tears. “Mr. Hamilton and I were just engaged in conversation.”

“Yes, I see.” Her hands clasped in front of her. “You two talk an awful lot.”

“We have to,” said Adil, cutting in before Toby could justify himself. “He understands that we’ll never see each other again after this voyage.” He turned on his heel with a final nod. “Good day to you both.”

Toby could only look in disbelief as, for the second time, Adil turned away from him. And just like last night, he stood there, frozen like a fool instead of going after the love of his life.

Instead, he let himself be dragged off by Theresa. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to _talk,_ ” she said as they began to circle the deck. “But today, I want to be by your side.”

He faltered. How much did she really know? “Theresa, you’re not… jealous of Adil and I, are you?”

“Jealous?” She snorted. “Oh, dear me, of course not. I know you’re not _that_ sort.” Toby nodded, not trusting himself to verbally agree with her. “But as your future wife, I… I want to get to know you better. And I want to spend time with you. Is that too much to ask?”

“I suppose not,” he said, and let Theresa lead him around the ship even as he felt his heart breaking.

It was just after tea when Toby found another chance to try and slip into the steerage common room.

To his chagrin, Adil was nowhere to be found. Blessedly, Joe was present, sitting on one of the benches with a cigarette precariously balanced between his fingers as he scrawled something down.

“I spoke with no less than twenty such ordinary folks like you and me, just trying to make a name for themselves in—Toby!” He smiled as Toby approached him. “How can I help you?”

“O'Hara.” Toby paused, before finally speaking. “Do you know where Adil might be?”

Joe’s smile lost some of his warmth. “Well, I’m afraid that’s confidential. He doesn’t really want to be found at this moment.”

Toby huffed. “That’s the thing, though. I feel as if he’s been avoiding me all day, ever since—” _I almost kissed him._ “—last night, and I don’t understand why.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the neat strands he had tried to set them in this morning. “Was it something I did?”

“He…” Joe pursed his lips. “He might think it’s something he did.”

Toby looked around, before leaning in even closer; this was not a conversation to be had loudly. “Or something he feels?”

Joe’s face didn't shift. “Whatever could you mean?” he asked, taking another hit of his cigarette.

“He… loves me, doesn’t he?”

There he was. Joe’s eyes narrowed as he exhaled smoke. “Toby,” he said, in a low and dangerous voice, “promise me you won’t tell anyone—”

“I know he’s a confirmed bachelor,” said Toby. “He told me himself.” He swallowed. “You know that, right?”

He froze, cigarette still dangling from his fingers. “What I know about my friends is frankly none of your—”

“Because I’m one, too.”

Toby hadn’t the slightest idea why he was telling Joe O’Hara, of all people—hell, why he was telling _anyone_ —but if his gut feelings were correct, this was a gamble that could pay off. “I didn’t realize it until last night, but I think Adil and I feel the same way about… many such matters. And I don’t want this trip to end with him thinking I’m disgusted with him,” he said, his chest all tight. “I don’t care if it’s wrong, Joe. I need to speak with him.”

Joe didn’t stop looking at him as he spoke. When Toby finished, he turned his head, grinning lopsidedly and muttering to himself.

“Adil, you lucky idiot,” he whispered, before turning back to Toby. “Listen. If you want to go find him…”

Toby found Adil on the bow of the ship.

As usual, he was pored over his sketchpad. His dark hair was falling into his eyes, his focus meticulous, his face golden in the light of the setting sun. Toby could nearly cry at how handsome he was in this moment, but he had more important things to take care of.

“Adil,” he said softly, taking a step back and clasping his hands. When Adil looked up, he predictably looked apprehensive, but Toby continued. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” he said back, not moving from his position even as his brows furrowed.

Toby smiled softly. “Joe told me I could find you here,” he said. “We haven’t really seen much of each other today, and I understand that you wish to be left alone, but…” Toby ducked his head. “…I thought my heart would break if I never saw you again.”

When he looked back up, Adil’s face had relaxed. Toby’s heart hammered in his chest as their gaze met once more.

“Joe sent you here, huh?” he asked, packing up his sketchpad and standing up.

“Yes, well, I had to ask him quite nicely, but—”

“Shh.” Adil held a finger to his lips. “I understand.” He took another step towards Toby, and he could finally make out the expression on his face; his eyes were wide, but his grin was so bright it ached. “You want to see something amazing?”

“Please,” he breathed.

“Close your eyes.”

The palms of his hands felt clammy. “How can you possibly show me anything if I can’t see?”

“Just close them.” Toby complied, and he felt Adil’s hands wrap around his waist. He could scarcely breathe as he felt Adil turn him around and walk him forward a few inches towards the front of the bow. “And hold your arms out to the side.” When he lifted them, he felt Adil press in just a bit closer.

“You can open them now.”

Toby opened his eyes, and gasped as he looked ahead. All around him there was nothing but water, dark and calm as they sailed onward. Even with the sun slightly in his eyes, it was magical; it felt as if there was no ship at all.

“Adil,” he said, his face lighting. “Adil, we’re flying!” He laughed, and Adil joined him. “I’m flying!”

Adil rest his head on his shoulder; Toby could feel his hair brush against his cheek. “Makes you feel like king of the world, doesn’t it?”

Toby turned his head to properly look at him. “It does,” he said breathlessly. “It really does.”

The ocean continued to lap behind them as Toby twisted his body around in Adil’s arms and reached forward—hesitating ever so slightly. When Adil made no sign to escape, he closed his eyes and rested his hands on his stubble-rough cheeks, delighting in the way Adil leaned forward into his touch.

They were on the same page, and it was wondrous.

“Adil…” he whispered, his heart beating madly as he leaned forward. “Adil, I—”

“We can’t.” Adil pulled away, his arms bouncing back to his sides, and Toby could nearly cry but for his next two words. “Not here.”

 _Not here._ But elsewhere…

Toby cocked his head. “I might know a place,” he whispered, nearly fainting with delight as Adil began to run after him.

_"And that was the last time the ship ever saw the light of day.”_

_Fleischman hums, looking down at her hands as the winter sun begins to set, setting the tiny lab ablaze in a bright orange glow._

_“So, we’re at dusk,” she says. “Six hours until impact, isn’t it?”_

_“It’s all so ridiculous,” says Koizumi, leaning back in her chair. “Smith_ knows _about the iceberg warning—and here they are, continuing full speed ahead. It’s a real—”_

_“Recipe for disaster, yes,” says Hamilton, tracing his finger softly over the signature of the drawing. “But until that night, we were all still safe in our little halcyon bubble…”_

“You’re sure we’ll have the place to ourselves?”

“Perfectly.” Toby closed the suite door behind them as Adil cautiously walked around the sitting room, his hands in his pockets as he looked around. “I daresay Theresa gets along much better with my parents than I do; they’ll be lost in conversation until quite late tonight.”

“Good,” said Adil, with a cursory glance at his pocket watch. “I’d hate for the evening to be cut short.” He paused, taking a step closer to the collection of paintings against the wall. “Oh, it’s a Monet!”

Toby shrugged, and his heart stung a little that this silly painting was diverting Adil’s attention. “Mother insisted on bringing it along.”

“He’s my favorite,” said Adil, and suddenly Toby felt a little ashamed at his moment of unprompted jealousy. “The way he paints, his use of color and brush strokes… It all feels so real, even if it all looks like a dream.” He stepped forward, closer to the painting. “That’s the beauty of impressionism. It’s like he’s perfectly captured a moment in time.”

“Is that what you do as an artist, then?” he asked, cocking his head to admire the piece for what it was: the gently floating lilies, the hazy reflection of the willow against the still waters, the colors cool yet inviting. He’d thought it quite silly before, but through that perspective… “Capturing moments in time? Impressions?”

“I’d like to think so.”

Toby nodded, considering his words and his fine skills, and—he could not be held responsible for the next sentence that escaped his lips.

“I want you to draw me like your French lad.”

Adil sputtered, ducking his head. “Toby, that’s awful bold.”

“I don’t know,” he said, grinning despite his face heating up, “maybe I’m feeling bold tonight. God, I’m gone mad, haven’t I?”

“Completely.” Adil nodded, but the shy smile that crept onto his face betrayed him.

“So is that a—”

“Yes, Toby,” said Adil, laughing softly to himself. “I’ll do it.”

“Great!” Toby glanced towards his bedroom door. “Er, I guess I should just—”

“Right, right,” said Adil, stepping back. “I’ll get everything set up. Just… let me know when you’re ready?”

He nodded, promptly slipping into his bedroom and softly closing the door behind him.

As Adil presumably got his tools ready outside, Toby just stood at the foot of his bed, hands hovering over his shirt buttons as he contemplated the absurdity of what he was getting himself into. Truly, it was a little mad that the moment he realized what he felt for Adil he was instantly ready to strip down in front of him, but… really, he didn’t feel like there was any better response. Twenty-two long years of his life, and he finally wanted to be desirable to someone else.

He wondered, as he began to undress, slowly and carefully, if Adil and the man in his notepad ever went beyond the platonic. They had been friends “in a sense,” according to him; had that been code this whole time, another piece of evidence flying over his head? Were his drawings not mere studies of the human form, but tantalizing warmups before—he flushed—before the intimacy?

And was it so bad if he wished the night to end similarly?

Wrapping his dressing gown around him, he knelt at the base of the safe, once more pulling out the velvet box. This time, he undid the delicate ribbon binding it together and revealed the magnificent blue jewel that sparkled within it.

Theresa was just going to have to be disappointed, he supposed.

Finally finding his voice, he called out, “You can come in now.”

The door opened, achingly slowly, and Toby could hear the soft patter of Adil’s feet on the carpet as he stepped in.

This was it.

Toby turned around, watching as Adil laid out all his pencils and tools on the side table. His hands looked so soft and inviting as he arranged everything in a row, so carefully and meticulously; surely, he was just as delicate in other matters.

“I, erm,” he said, shaking himself free from his shameless thoughts, “I thought maybe I could pose with this.” Adil looked up, his eyelashes fluttering as his gaze shifted to the delicate object held in Toby’s hands. “You know what it is?”

Adil’s fingers brushed up against his as he took the necklace from him; they were really as soft as they looked, and Toby could still feel where they had been after he pulled away. “Looks valuable,” he said, turning it around.

“It's called the heart of the ocean,” he said. “It's one of the most valuable diamonds in the world, and… it was supposed to be for Theresa.”

“So, what are you planning on doing with it? Wear it?”

“I don’t know,” said Toby, throwing his hands up, “I’m not a _girl._ ” He huffed. “You come up with something; aren’t you the artist?”

Adil pursed his lips, overturning the pendant; the light caught on the stone and made it glimmer. “Perhaps you could just hold it,” he said, bringing it closer to his chest. “Against your chest, your… your own heart.”

Toby grinned. “That’s quite poetic of you,” he said. “I love it.”

A silence fell.

“So,” said Adil, handing back the necklace, “are you ready?”

He had never been readier for anything in his entire life. Instead, he answered with a slightly less desperate, “right, of course,” before turning around and undoing the knot on his dressing gown, letting it fall to a pile at his feet, exposing himself.

He could hear Adil pulling up a chair as he hoisted himself onto the bed, his heart hammering as he lay down. Instinctively, he propped up his right leg; wanton as he was, he was still a proper Englishman, and he wasn’t about to reveal that much in one go. Adil, for his part, just carefully watched him over his sketchpad, not speaking much except to ask him to “prop yourself up a bit, right, and just… bring your eyes to me, and hold it like that, against your—perfect.”

Toby tilted his head down and properly met Adil’s gaze, and God, the way he looked at him, his head bowed down shyly yet his deep eyes full of desire—it was doing things to his body. He flushed as he pressed his thighs tightly together, trying to stifle his growing arousal at a mere _look._

“I’m sorry, could you hold still?”

“Right.” The blush grew deeper, and he desperately thought of the Atlantic and Pythagoras and the cool metal of the necklace delicately hanging from his hand over his bare chest.

Adil was quiet as he worked, his face mostly obscured by the sketchpad save for his eyes, constantly darting back and forth between the paper and Toby, who could hear nothing but the gentle scratch of the pencil and his own heart, pounding furiously against his chest with every single glance. At least he wasn’t the only one flustered by the whole affair, he thought with some satisfaction; Adil’s cheeks had darkened and from the few furtive glances he had of his face, his lips were pressed tightly together. At one point he had set down his pencil and run a hand over his face, muttering to himself as he looked away.

“You’re flustered, aren’t you?” said Toby, teasing despite his own anxiety. “I don’t imagine Monsieur Monet ever gets flustered while working.”

“He does landscapes,” he whispered. Nevertheless, he continued to work; his strokes were long and careful, the pencil held firmly yet gently between his fingers.

And after the longest while, he finally set down his tools for the last time.

“It’s finished.”

Toby wrapped himself back up in his dressing gown as he peeked over at the sheet of paper held in Adil’s hands, and his heart skipped a beat. There he was, carefully etched upon the paper in the position he had laid in earlier, but somehow it felt different. Adil had clearly put so much care into this; the lines were soft but sure, his figure—he flushed—drawn in exquisite detail. The heart lay at the center of his chest, of course, but Toby found himself more drawn to the way his face had been drawn. The real Toby had been beyond nervous as he posed; this version of himself seemed sure of himself as he longingly gazed at the viewer.

A moment of vulnerability captured in time.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered. “Date it. Sign it. I want to remember this night forever.”

With a flutter of eyelashes, Adil turned back and picked up his pencil once more. And as he wrote the date, Toby pulled up a piece of stationary and hastily scrawled a message upon it.

His family would be so disappointed; he found, suddenly, that he didn’t give a damn anymore.

_Tell Theresa I’m sorry, but I have no regrets._

_-Toby_

He lay the note gently atop his portrait, now with the date and _For Toby – AJ_ written upon it in neat, slanted handwriting. He crossed over to the safe and tucked them right next to a hefty stack of banknotes. By the time Lucian—or anyone else, for that matter—would find the evidence, it would be too late, and Toby would already be gone from his old life, on to the next one, if only Adil would allow it.

And it seemed that he would, indeed; he had stood up in the time it took for Toby to slam the safe shut, still looking despite the pretense being gone. When Toby took a tentative step forward, he matched him, and when he made to hold his hand, Adil was the first one to entwine their fingers together.

And when their lips finally met, it was as if all of his questions had been answered at once.

Toby wanted this moment to last forever, hang suspended in the air; Adil’s lips were soft against his, even if his stubble was mildly grating, and he held onto him with a certainty that he hadn’t felt in years. When they parted, Adil rested his forehead against Toby’s and didn’t let go, and Toby truly felt as light and giddy as he had last night.

And just as he leaned in again, he heard the door to the suite open.

Toby’s eyes flew open and he jerked back, just in time to catch his mother _calling his name_ from the sitting room and drawing closer. “Shit,” he hissed, taking in the scene—the rumpled bedsheets, the artist’s tools, Adil frantically trying to hide behind the wardrobe—and realized he had to think fast before she caught them in the act.

Shooing Adil further back into the room, he stuck his head through the door. “Not so _loudly,_ Mother, God.”

“Toby!” His mother jumped, laying a hand over her heart. “My goodness, we were all so worried about you! They’re already serving the soup, for heaven’s sake, and you were nowhere to be found!”

Toby shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I may have to pass tonight,” he said, furrowing his brow and tensing his jaw in a convincing display of pain. “Got a bit of a headache. I just need to lay down.”

“Oh.” Instantly, her face softened. “Shall I fetch Theresa for you, then?”

“No, please, I just need to be left alone—”

“Just to check in, please, Toby, she’s beside herself—”

Toby huffed. “Fine,” he said. “Go send for her.”

“Don’t be so short,” she said, turning on her heel and marching out—but quickly turning around and saying in a much gentler voice, “And I do hope you feel better, dear.”

Nodding, he watched as she left and closed the door behind her, and quickly ducked back into the room, where Adil was peeking his head slowly from behind the wardrobe.

“I suppose I should get going, then?” he asked.

“Perhaps,” said Toby, picking his shirt off the floor with a wild grin. “Perhaps we should.”

_Hamilton laughs. “I told you that woman never learnt to knock,” he says, leaning across the table as he continues. “So, naturally, we had to leave. Head somewhere a little more private. A few crossed boiler rooms, interrupted cabin meetings—but we eventually found a spot_ _belowdecks_ _where no one could bother us.”_

_“And then?” asks Fleischman, though she’s sure she knows what followed. It’s impossible to not know. “What happened next?”_

_He pauses, quirking up a single eyebrow. He doesn’t speak, though the corner of his mouth twitches up. Hart gasps and Koizumi giggles as both of them grasp the situation._

_“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell_ _,” he says._

Toby didn’t think he’d ever laughed harder than when they threw themselves into the Renault, flinging themselves into the plush backseat. Adil joined along, burying his head in the crook of Toby’s neck as another fit of giggles overtook them both.

“You don’t suppose the owner’s going to come looking, is he?” he asked.

Adil lifted his head, gazing at him with those beautiful deep eyes of his. “Probably not,” he said, wrapping his arms around Toby’s waist before finally pulling him in for the proper kiss they’d both been waiting ages for.

Toby met him halfway, holding on as tightly as he could to his face as they kissed deeply and messily, none of the restraint from that evening left over. He pulled at his hair as their hips came together, and the lingering arousal from their session in the bedroom turned to burning and intense wantonness. _More._

All too soon, though, Adil was pulling away, surveying him closely. “Toby,” he breathed, “is this alright?”

“God, _please,_ ” he hissed, pulling Adil on top of him. “I want you so badly.” Adil moaned, and he kissed him again, splaying his hands over his chest as they began to fumble with their shirt buttons.

While they were hasty in disrobing each other, once they were both finally nude Adil was achingly tender, making love to him so slowly and sweetly Toby would have sworn it was a dream had it not been for the seat of the Renault digging awkwardly into his back. Unlike what he had feared would eventually happen with Theresa, there was no panic and no hesitation with the whole affair, not a single moment he didn’t want to be fully aware for; his heart felt like it was about to burst from his chest as they moved together and his pleasure took him by such surprise that he couldn’t help but slam his hand against the fogged-up window, gasping Adil’s name into the crook of his neck as he arched against him.

And when he felt Adil shudder atop him with his own undoing, Toby knew he had never felt more alive than at this very moment.

_Hamilton lets the sentence hang in the air with all its unspoken implications._

_Fleischman raises her eyebrows but says no more. Hart, on the other hand, is too full of youthful curiosity to leave the poor guy alone._

_“Ok, but,” he starts, vibrating in his seat like some kind of giddy schoolboy, “I mean, you guys did it, right?”_

_Koizumi lightly smacks him on the shoulder. “More importantly, what happened to the heart?” she asks. Hart frowns, rubbing his shoulder. “You said you left a note and the drawing in your safe, but you never mentioned putting the necklace back.”_

_“Well, that’s because I didn’t,” he says with a wave of his hand. “There was no point in doing so, not when I had no more intention of giving it to Theresa.”_

_“So, it’s safe to assume she didn’t even know of its existence?”_

_“Not in the slightest,” he says. “Theresa never once laid eyes upon it. She was never worthy of it.”_

_“Where did it go, then?”_

_Hamilton’s hand flutters over his heart again; Fleischman realizes he’s been doing that quite a lot, practically every time he talks about_ _Adil_ _. “Keep listening and I might tell you.”_

Adil lay there in the backseat as the two basked in the afterglow.

Toby was curled up around him as tightly as a bud before the bloom, his head resting on his chest; Adil was absentmindedly stroking his hair, thoroughly mussed up just the way he liked it from their earlier exertions. He knew they probably didn’t have long to stay before someone came looking, and he would rather the night not end on charges of indecency just as everything was starting, but for now he was content to just rest in silence.

However, it seemed Toby had other ideas.

“Hang on,” he whispered, disentangling himself from Adil. “I, er, there’s something I have to show you.”

“Go on.”

He turned around and began feeling around on the floor; this time, Adil let himself sneak a glance, trailing his eyes all the way down the other man’s body as he fished for something in his trousers. “There we are.” He turned his head, a little smile playing across his face. “Close your eyes?”

“Why?”

“Just close them.” Adil complied, just as Toby had not but a few hours ago. “And hold out your hand.”

As soon as Adil’s hand was outstretched he felt something cool and heavy being pressed into it.

“You can open them now,” Toby whispered.

When Adil opened his eyes, his heart nearly skipped a beat, for resting in his hand was that necklace from earlier, the heart of the ocean, in all its expensive glory. The faint light from outside bounced off its faceted surface, sending tiny pinpricks of blue light around the small space like faint little stars.

Toby just smiled, delicately folding Adil’s fingers over the treasure and not letting go of his hand. “I want you to have this.”

His eyes were wide as he shook his head. “Toby,” he whispered, “I don’t understand, isn’t this for your fiancée?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said sharply. “It’s yours now.” His eyes darted down. “It always will be.”

Adil's own heart was racing as their hands continued to rest over the necklace. Never had anyone been this sweet for him in his short time in this existence. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

Toby giggled, biting his lip. “How about thank you?”

In reality, there was much more he wished to tell him, but he felt like it would be far too soon to lay bare all his emotions. Instead, he tilted up Toby’s chin and leaned their foreheads together, relishing in the way he cupped Adil’s face as if he were the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss against his lips. “Thank you, Toby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The painting that Adil is looking at is, of course, part of Claude Monet's _Water Lilies_ series, specifically [this one](https://uploads0.wikiart.org/images/claude-monet/water-lilies-nympheas-1907.jpg). He seems like he'd be a fan of Impressionism.


	5. Never Let Go 'Till We're Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank you all for your patience! This chapter wasn't an easy one to work on, and you'll probably see why... Hopefully, it'll all be worth it! And as always, thank you so much for your kind comments, I seriously can't stop grinning when I ready them <3  
> TW for period-typical homophobia. To avoid it, simply skip past "But never mind," and return at "Another damn knock at the door." Also, uh, if you know how the original _Titanic_ ends... Well, no spoilers, but keep that in mind...

_“It was the most wondrous moment of my life.”_

_Fleischman feels like she shouldn’t be as surprised as she is now; after all, Hamilton did spend the past two hours talking about his affair with_ _Adil_ _in answer to the simple question of “Where is the necklace you posed with?”. Nevertheless, it’s an interesting turn of events, one that could lead to either a fascinating investigation or a frustrating dead end. Toby doesn’t have the heart of the ocean anymore; it’s someone else’s. Or, at least,_ was _someone else’s._

_The tape clicks to a stop, and she holds up a finger as she switches it out. “Sounds like it, sir,” she says. “Seems like you guys really made a connection there.”_

_“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he says, ducking his head as his hand remains on his chest. “And I still miss him so much.”_

_The recorder whirs back to life._

_“Mr. Toby Hamilton.” Fleischman sits back up in her chair; heartbreaking as this story may be, she can’t forget the purpose of his visit. “You just shared with us that the heart of the ocean was last given to_ _Adil_ _Joshi.”_

 _Which leads her to their next problem. Toby Hamilton is no longer in possession of the heart;_ _Adil_ _Joshi was gifted it._ _Adil_ _Joshi may or may not have survived the sinking._

 _Adil_ _Joshi is dead._

_“What happened next?”_

_Toby sighs, his hands falling back to the table. “That’s when everything went to hell.”_

“When this ship docks,” said Toby, “I’m getting off with you.”

The air on the deck was frigid, but Adil hardly felt it as they ran across. “You’re speaking nonsense,” he laughed.

“Adil, I’ve never made more sense in my entire life.”

Adil’s heart skipped a beat as Toby looked at him, all wide-eyed energy and sheer giddiness. “Come here,” he whispered, cocking his head, and Toby was instantly on his side, slinging an arm around his waist and pulling him close with a giggle.

“Just think about it, though,” he said as they continued to make their way back to the bow. “We could be inconspicuous. Get a little flat together, it would be so economical. No one would suspect a thing.”

“Joe won’t be pleased.” The lookout hollered something from above them, and they separated as they crossed starboard. “I promised him we would split a flat in Manhattan.”

“Well, that’s just his loss,” said Toby. “Hey, maybe Emma could split the rent with him instead.”

“Scandalous, isn’t it?”

“Not any more than our arrangement—” He dropped his voice, grinning wickedly. “—darling.”

Adil took a deep breath, the name making him all fluttery in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He leaned forward, steeling himself, and whispered, “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

Toby clenched his jaw and, with a sigh, looked around the corner to where the lookouts were still joking around on the crow’s nest. His eyes narrowed, and Adil could see that mathematician’s mind hard at work.

The conclusion seemed to satisfy him, and he turned back to Adil, backing him against the cabin wall with his eyes—hazel, he had come to learn—twinkling mischievously. “They can’t see us from here.”

And then they threw all caution to the wind.

Adil had kissed other gentlemen before, but none had quite been like this. What Toby clearly lacked in experience he more than made up for with sheer enthusiasm; he kissed him as if it were the only thing keeping him alive, only breaking apart for the requisite gasp of air before diving right back in. It made Adil's knees weak for the first time in years, knowing this wasn’t just a furtive kiss in an alley with someone he wouldn't ever see again, but one of those real fairytale embraces with a man who wanted him back.

So lost they were in each other that they couldn’t hear the cries from the bow or the frantic ringing of the bell. All that was on Adil’s mind was Toby’s hands in his hair, his waist in his arms, his heart in his pocket. _I’m in love, and it’s the greatest feeling ever._

A sickening crunch drew them from each other once again.

“What the hell?” Toby broke the kiss, turning towards the railing behind them as Adil’s eyes fluttered open and—

“Jesus.”

The entire starboard view had become obscured by a massive iceberg, rushing by them and grinding against the ship as it passed. Adil barely had time to react before ice rained down on them and they both had to jump back against the wall.

Adil was a gentleman. But the words that escaped his lips as a chunk of ice hit him square in the face were not very proper of him.

“I’m alright,” he said, already noticing the worried look on Toby’s face as he rushed to his side. “I’m fine, but—what was _that?_ ”

The iceberg eventually floated past them towards the aft, leaving the view of the ocean clear; the waves were still calm, as if nothing catastrophic had taken place. When Adil ran to the railing and peered down, the hull above the water seemed as smooth as normal; no obvious damage was staring up at them.

“It can’t be that bad,” he said. Beside him, Toby glanced back at the receding iceberg, his brow furrowed, his mind once more at work. The more he looked, the deeper his brow furrowed.

It was that bad.

“It’s that bad,” he whispered. “We have to—” He glanced back at Adil. “We have to warn Mother and Theresa.” He fumbled in his pockets. “They should be back in the suite by now—I’m sorry, could you give me the time? I think I left my watch in my room.”

Adil checked his pockets, but they were all empty save for the heart. Damn it. “I might have left mine in your room as well.”

Toby huffed. “Perfect,” he muttered, before grabbing his hand. “Well, never mind that. Come on, then.” His gaze faltered. “You are coming, of course?”

“Right.”

The two ran back down across the ship, already feeling unsteady under their feet. They had barely set foot in the hall, however, before they were found by Lucian.

“Toby, thank goodness!” he said, running up to him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He slipped in behind them, before quickly patting Adil on the back. “Joshi. Can’t say it’s a surprise.”

Adil couldn’t help but hear the sheer contempt in his voice, the way he said his name as if he were some pesky insect to be quashed, but there was no time to worry about all that. Not when the ship was damaged, not when something horrible was about to happen.

If only he knew just how bad it could really get.

“Mother, Theresa,” said Toby, holding his side as the two rushed back into the sitting room, “something serious has happened.”

“Indeed.” To their distaste, Lucian had finally caught up to them. This time, Adil could get a proper look at his face; any sense of artificial warmth had been scrubbed away, leaving only coldness as he looked him up and down. “We’ve been stolen from.”

Adil’s heart jolted.

Toby huffed. “That’s beside the point,” he said, crossing his arms and looking back to his most confused mother. “The ship, it—”

Lucian took another step in, towards Adil. It was at that moment that he noticed the two uniformed men standing stoically next to the door. “We can talk about the ship later.” He cocked his head towards them. “Search him.”

Adil could hardly get a word in before his coat was being ripped off of him by one of the stone-faced stewards; the other began patting him down. What they were looking for, he hadn’t the faintest; he knew he ought to speak up, but confusion and panic had taken ahold of his voice and he found himself quite unable to speak.

Blessedly, Toby did all the complaining for him. “Are you insane?” he yelled, waving his hands around. “This is profiling, what you’re—for God’s sake, we’re in the middle an _emergency_ and—”

“Is this it, sir?”

Lucian looked over at the steward fumbling with Adil’s coat; in his hand, he held a pair of mother-of-pearl cufflinks and a moonstone brooch.

How in the _world_ —

“Yes, thank you.” His lip curled up in disgust. “Take him away.”

“I…” A pair of cold handcuffs were slapped on Adil's wrists, and his stomach was turning in knots as he looked around at everyone’s faces; Lady Hamilton was disgusted, Theresa was shocked, Toby—Toby wasn’t even looking at him. “Please, you can’t believe him, I’ve never—I would never!”

“But how?” he whispered to the floor, and Adil could feel his heart breaking into pieces.

“Oh, it would be quite easy,” said Lucian. “He saw the combination while you were opening the safe. It wouldn't take much skill to memorize it.”

Toby shook his head, still refusing to meet anyone's gaze. “He was with me the whole time.”

Lucian leaned forward, dangerously close, and Adil could just barely make out his chilling words. “Not while you were getting dressed.”

A deadly silence filled the air.

And when Toby finally met his gaze, his eyes were shiny with tears. “Is this what all this was about?”

“Toby, please, don’t—”

“We’re finished here,” said Lucian, waving his hand and turning away from him.

“Don’t listen to him!” he said, desperately trying to get Toby to see reason as he was yanked away by the stewards. “Toby, I didn’t do it, you know I didn’t! Listen to me!”

The last he saw before the door closed on him was Toby’s heartbroken face, staring straight ahead without meeting his eyes.

Someone knocked at the door.

Toby lifted his head from his knees. He’d sequestered himself in his room as soon as Adil was taken away; even now, with all this time to think, he had no idea how to feel about him. He really thought—

He really thought they had something.

Maybe he was the fool, getting suckered into what he thought was a sweeping romance with a man he knew for all of three days, only to have it be nothing but a honey trap set up by a man who only knew him for all of three days. A small part of his brain was trying to tell him that it made no sense, but he couldn’t let gullible hope trump logic and reasoning tonight. The fact of the matter was, he was awkward and plain and wholly inexperienced; his only catch was his family’s wealth.

How cruel it was. Adil was the only reason he even understood himself, and he’d just gone and abused his feelings for his own ends—

The knock grew louder.

“Go away,” he croaked.

Despite his protests, the door opened anyway.

“Toby,” said Lucian as he stepped in, the smug smile back on his face. “Feeling any better?”

Toby curled his upper lip. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Well, I think we should.” The door clicked shut behind him, and he sat himself down in the armchair beside Toby. “Away from prying ears.” Toby said nothing, just pulled his legs closer to himself. “I understand you must be quite upset right now.”

He _was_ upset. Upset with Adil for taking advantage of his love and upset with himself for being roped into this mess. To think, he was just after his wealth!

 _Your pocket watch was just lying out on the open, but he never took it,_ said the foolish optimist in him.

 _It would have been too obvious a target,_ he reminded himself.

“But never mind,” continued Lucian, not minding his stepson’s silence. “It’s all done with. Joshi is gone, and you needn’t worry about his corrupting influences any longer.”

Toby’s head whipped up. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not a fool,” he said. “I saw the note. I saw the…” His lips pursed in disgust. “…the drawing.”

Of course he had. Toby had left it there on purpose, foolishly expecting to never return to his room after the night was over—because he had thought his life lay with Adil.

Who had drawn him so lovingly—

—because it was his job.

Lucian leaned forward. “Whatever he did to you,” he whispered, “it doesn’t matter. I shan’t tell your mother, or Theresa—” He glanced at the door. “We can be discreet. Head to a clinic and call it a nice holiday in Wales.” He smiled, almost as if he believed the filth he was spewing. “They’ll get you all fixed up, and you can move on with your life, be the gentleman you were meant to be.”

“ _Fixed up?_ ” Toby reached back for his signet ring, twisting furiously. “I’m—there’s nothing to fix.”

“He’s made you sick, Toby, there’s no way around it.”

“He’s made me see myself for who I really am!”

Because despite everything, there was no way around the fact that Toby had been stumbling around blindly for all his life until Adil had woken him up, shown him the beauty of being with someone he truly loved, stolen his heart—

His heart.

His _heart._

_They never found the heart of the ocean on him._

He scrambled to his feet. “You lied,” he hissed. “You lied!”

“Good Lord, what has he _done_ to you?” said Lucian, standing up to match him.

Another damn knock at the door.

“I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” said the steward who had just stuck his head in, “but I’ve been ordered to tell you to come up to the boat deck at once.”

Lucian’s head whipped around. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

“Captain’s orders, I’m afraid.” He turned back to leave. “It's probably just precautionary. Dress warmly, it’s quite chilly outside.”

Lucian laughed softly, although the coldness remained in his eyes. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?” he said, pulling his coat around him.

And just as he turned to leave, Toby’s eyes widened.

He could have sworn that was a glimmer of blue in his pocket.

It was supposed to be just precautionary.

The crew had told them, over and over again, that it was nothing to worry about, just please step outside for a moment; they had been huddled on the deck just _waiting_ for something to happen, but even as the ship kept listing forward, there was nothing at all.

That is, right up until Toby heard the harrowing cry pierce through the dead of night:

“Start the loading! Women and children!”

And precisely at that moment, Toby knew he was doomed. The _Titanic_ only held twenty lifeboats, but the passengers and crew numbered over two thousand, from what he could remember. Even if all went according to plan, half of the people aboard this ship would die. And, well, he wasn’t a woman or a child; his life wasn’t a priority.

The thought was terrifying, but also a bit of a relief. He was already a dead man; he didn’t have to be held to the consequences of his actions anymore.

“Women and children!”

“Mother, please, this way,” he said, marching towards one of the loading boats on the starboard rail, where only minutes ago he and Adil were getting lost in each other’s embrace.

“This is all so silly,” she said, as the band behind them struck up a merry waltz. This was First Class, after all, where one marched to their deaths in style. “You watch, Toby. They’ll put us in these silly little boats to freeze, and we’ll all be back by breakfast.”

“Mother, _please._ ”

“It’s April,” said Theresa, pulling her arms closer to herself and leaning in towards Toby as they walked. “Why is it so cold out?”

He huffed. “We were warned it would be chilly.”

“Yes, but they pushed us out so suddenly, I hardly had time to get changed!”

Toby pulled off his jacket and tossed it in her direction. “Here you go.” Theresa looked at him, bewildered, before slinging it on. He supposed he should have felt worse for being so short with her, but after months of leading her on, he had to come clean eventually.

“So,” said Lucian, sticking his hands in his pockets, “that just leaves us gentlemen to freeze, eh?”

Toby stopped, turning on his heel. “Lucian,” he said, mimicking his sickly sweetness. “When were you going to tell me that you were a thief?”

Lucian’s jaw hung in the air. “Toby,” he said, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know, just—” Toby didn’t even bother finishing his sentence before rushing at Lucian and fishing around in his coat pocket, managing to dodge Lucian’s flailing arms before emerging triumphant, breathing heavily with the damn heart of the ocean clasped tightly in his hand.

“Explain.”

He could almost laugh at the expressions around him. Lucian’s eyes had gone wide; his mother, for her part, went silent.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, dangling the necklace back and forth like a hypnotist’s pendulum. “It’s the heart of the ocean. One of the most valuable diamonds in the world… and my possession.”

All the blood drained from his face.

“Lucian?” asked his mother. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Well, I…” He was still evidently trying to smile, though it ended up coming out more like a grimace. “I… how did you even know I had it?”

“That’s not an explanation,” said Toby.

“But how did you know?”

Consequences be damned. “Because it wasn’t in Adil’s pocket.”

“Excuse me?”

Toby grinned. “I know he had it,” he said. “The heart was with Adil, but they didn’t find it when they searched him. And yet, you somehow knew he’d have _other_ valuables with him?”

“You mean, you already _knew_ he was a thief?”

“No,” he said, and God, he could almost laugh. “Because I gave it to him.”

“ _Toby!_ ” yelled his mother. “What on earth—that was for Theresa!”

“For me?” Theresa glanced around, the bewildered look still on her face. “What’s going on?”

“Women and children!”

Toby sighed, marching both women towards the davit. “Mother, _please,_ the lifeboat!”

“Toby—”

“Save yourselves, for God’s sake!” he yelled, practically pushing them back into the boat. “You know why he had it, right? Why I gave it away?”

“Toby,” hissed Lucian, “don’t you dare—”

“ _I love him!_ ”

Mother could only gape at him as he continued. He was already dead; he had nothing to lose. “That’s right,” he laughed. “I love Adil. Mother, I’m in love with him. And if I’m to die tonight, it shall be by his side.”

“Toby, are you mad?” she shouted. “You’ve barely known him for a _week!_ ”

“ _That’s_ the issue you’re taking, Priscilla?” yelled Lucian, but Toby hardly paid him any mind as he turned to Theresa, her eyes shining with tears.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered thickly. “This has to be a joke, right?”

Toby looked down. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “Theresa, I haven’t given you the respect you deserve. You’re a good woman, and you deserve a good man who loves you, properly. It just won’t be me.” He reached for her hand, holding it one last time. “I’m sorry.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to the back of her hand before letting go and running away.

A tight hand grabbed his shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?” hissed Lucian.

Toby struggled against him. “I think you know exactly where.”

“Is that it? You’re throwing your life away for this Indian Bohemian!?”

He finally shrugged him off, smiling triumphantly at him. “Yes,” he said, before turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd.

He was a dead man; he knew exactly with whom he wanted to spend his final moments.

The water kept rising despite Adil’s best efforts.

No matter how hard he tried to free himself, the cuffs stubbornly refused to move; he was still left chained to that damn pipe, with nothing but sore wrists to show for the effort.

“ _Shit,_ ” he muttered, leaning against the pipe. Perhaps it was fitting, he supposed; he hadn’t had a place in the world for years, bouncing around from haven to have, and just when things were looking up, he was to die.

He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the acrid sting of saltwater.

“Adil?”

There was no fighting it; he was stuck, and he might as well face it with dignity.

“Adil? Adil!” His eyes fluttered open, and if he wasn’t mistaken, that was—

“Toby!” he yelled, pulling himself forward. “Toby, in here!”

“Oh, thank God!” The doorknob rustled, but the door stubbornly refused to budge. “Shit, it’s locked! Just a moment, damn it—”

Adil counted the seconds by the senses: the sound of water sloshing around, the vibrations of the walls, the stench of the brine growing closer each moment.

The sound of splintering wood drew him out of his reverie. When he looked back over at the door, he saw chunks of it splashing down into the water as an axe relentlessly swung at it, until finally, the door collapsed with the weight of someone’s body and—

—Toby was rushing through the archway, hair plastered to his forehead in dark waves and hazel eyes ablaze as he gripped the axe. As soon as he saw Adil, however, his gaze softened, and he rushed over towards him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, raising the axe once more. “I don’t think I have time for any practice swings.”

“It’s alright, just—make it quick.” Adil pulled his arms as far apart as he could, squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed.

The harsh clang of metal on metal rocketed its way through his jaw in the most unpleasant way possible, but at least when he lifted his hands, the cuffs slipped right off. He rubbed his wrists, wincing ever so slightly.

“Adil.” Toby had set down the axe on the nearest drawer before throwing himself into Adil’s arms. “God, Adil, I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he whispered, holding him tight. For the longest hour of his life, he thought he may never have gotten this chance again. “D’Abberville, he—he slipped the cufflinks into my pocket.”

“I know, I know.”

“How?”

Toby pulled away. “Call it a hunch,” he said, before pulling the heart of the ocean from his pocket. Adil’s eyes widened. “I found it in his pocket. Bloody bastard must have tried to take it for himself when we weren’t looking.”

“The nerve,” he said, before shuddering as the water climbed up to their waists. Despite everything, they were still in danger. “Toby, we have to go.” Despite himself, he couldn’t help but lean in for one more chaste kiss. “Thank you.”

Toby smiled and grabbed his hand, and the two were off once more.

For once in his life, Toby regretted not being more of an athlete.

While an academic life at Oxford had done wonders for his wit, it had been regrettably sedentary enough that he found himself quite winded as he raced through the endless labyrinth of belowdecks corridors. Running was hard enough on a good day, let alone running for his life, through steadily rising seawater. He was silently grateful for Adil’s hand urging him along through the darkened hallways, even though the task could not have been easy for him.

“This way,” whispered Adil, and he followed, wading up the staircase and onto dry floors, where movement became much easier. Unfortunately, the water was swiftly replaced by a large gaggle of Third Class passengers, all congregated in the blocked hallways.

“Great,” whispered Adil, slipping his hand from Toby’s now that they were in the public eye once more, “now we’ll never get out.” He shook his head. “Toby, you fool, you should have stayed on the deck.”

“But then I wouldn’t be with you,” he whispered.

The sharp cry of a young child shook his attention momentarily.

“Excuse me!” he said, elbowing his way through the masses to find a mousy-haired girl of maybe seven or eight, bumping around the jostling adults around her with tears in her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Toby, what are you—” Adil went silent as he saw the girl. “ _Tzipi?_ ”

She tilted her head up, her eyes widening in recognition. “Adi!” she cried, running up to him and hugging his legs. “Adi, _hilfe_ _!_ ”

Adil gestured to Toby. “Take her,” he said. “I’ll clear a path for us.” Toby nodded and bent down to pick her up; she instantly wrapped her arms around his neck, apparently satisfied that anyone “Adi” trusted she could trust as well.

The hallway was just as crowded when they tried to pass through it and find an exit that wasn’t gated off, and Toby soon found himself out of breath once more. He was thankful that Adil was doing most of the work yelling for Tzipi’s father and clearing the path, for his arms were already going numb just supporting her. Running was hard. Running through two feet of water and a crowd while holding a child in his arms? That was nigh impossible.

“Adil! Toby!”

Toby looked up just in time to see Joe run towards them with a moustached man, whose eyes widened upon seeing them.

“Tzipi!” he cried, pawing through the crowd to scoop her up from Toby’s arms. His heart wrenched as father and daughter embraced, muttering soothing German phrases.

Joe, for his part, reached out to embrace Adil. “It’s blocked,” he said, stepping away with a firm pat on the back. “Steward’s not letting anyone through.”

Toby sighed. “Probably waiting for my sort to finish boarding,” he said, before pausing, an idea rising to his head. “Hang on. _I’m_ of my sort.”

“An astute observation,” said Joe, “but you’ll notice you’re stuck down here with the rest of us.”

Toby raised a finger. “But we don’t have to be,” he said, bouncing on his heels. “Gentlemen, follow me.”

As expected, when the five of them reached the gate, there was still a steward standing guard. “Get back!” he yelled, a pistol held tightly in his hand. “Get back, you lot!”

“Excuse me,” said Toby, puffing up his chest as he held up his left hand, hoping the gold insignia on his pinky would mean something to him. “How dare you address me like that?”

The steward faltered. “I’m… terribly sorry, sir,” he said, and it was almost pathetic how his tone shifted at the mere sight of him, as if his life was more valuable than the hundreds of people crowded behind him, “but we can’t allow anyone through just yet. It’s policy, I’m afraid.”

“Damn the policy,” he hissed, then froze when he remembered that Tzipi was still within earshot. “I mean, er, I insist you let these good people through. They have just as much a right to live as I do.”

“Sir, please—”

This wasn’t working.

With a deep breath, Toby slipped the little ring off his finger and passed it into the steward’s free hand through the bars of the gate. “I’d really appreciate it, good sir.”

The steward was silent for a moment, eyeing the trinket in his hand. Pure gold like that was hard to come by; it could afford much security if he survived. “Of course, sir,” he said, pocketing the ring before fiddling with his keys and opening the gate. “Not all at once, now, do you hear?”

He could starkly feel the ring’s absence, but he found it freeing more than anything. “Thank you!” he shouted behind him as they made their escape onto the deck.

The most of them, at least. Joe found himself trapped behind the rushing crowd, despite their best efforts to stay together, but despite how much he felt for the American, they had to keep moving forward.

“Are there no more boats?” yelled Adil as he, Toby, and Mr. Klein ran across the deck, trying to keep his balance as the ship kept listing forward.

Toby squinted. “None that I can see—hang on, hang on!” In front of them, a group of stewards were struggling to get a half-filled boat attached to the davits. “There’s one, I see it, I see it!”

“Women and children only, I’m afraid!”

So, they were still maintaining that foolish policy even with all the deaths aboard? No matter. At least a couple of lives could be saved.

“Right here, sir!” he yelled, pushing Mr. Klein forward. “He’s got a child, he’s got a child!”

“Sir—”

“I’m all she’s got,” said Mr. Klein, holding on tightly to Tzipi. “Please, sir—”

“Alright, alright.” The steward motioned forward, hastily making space for him to drop down into the boat.

Just as it was lowered, he gave them one last wave. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he said, smiling through his tears.

“ _Auf wiedersehen, Adi!_ ” called out Tzipi.

“You’re both idiots,” said a voice behind them.“That was the last boat.”

Toby turned on his heel, and his stomach lurched as Lucian stared right at him. “Lucian.”

“Toby,” he said, taking another long drag of his cigarette as he leaned against the railing. “I was wondering when you two would join us.”

Toby took a good look at him. “Pass me a smoke?” he asked, and to his surprise, Lucian handed him a cigarette and his lighter. Toby tucked it between his teeth and lit it up, savoring the buzz of nicotine hitting his brain after all he’d been through. “Fancy one, Adil?”

“No, thank you.”

Shrugging, Toby tossed the lighter overboard before turning back to his stepfather. “What happened to your eye?” he asked; it had definitely not been red and swollen shut when they last met.

Lucian just smiled. “Your mother has quite the arm on her.”

Toby snorted as he took another hit. Evidently, his mother hadn’t taken the news well. “Good for her,” he muttered.

Behind them, a string quartet struck up a mournful hymn, an eerie backdrop juxtaposed against the agonized screams of the passengers and crew and the harsh listing of the ship. Toby kept his eyes fixed on Lucian as they continued to smoke; he almost seemed at ease with his impending mortality, as if he had it coming to him.

Adil wrapped his arm around Toby and nodded; a grim understanding was met between the three men.

“Toby, we have to go,” he whispered, taking his hand.

Toby nodded, before dropping the stub to the deck and grinding it under the heel of his shoe.

“See you in Hell, Lucian,” he said as they ran off.

By the time they reached the aft deck, the ship had partially risen out of the water, and it was all Toby could do to hold on and try not to fall.

“Just keep moving,” said Adil, squeezing his hand. “We just have to stay on the ship as long as we can.”

“Right,” he said, as the swarm of people flooded around them, all vying for a chance to stay on board. He gritted his teeth as they practically climbed across the deck, finally reaching the aft railing.

The spot where they had met, where Adil had first saved him. Was it only two days ago? It already felt like a lifetime.

Adil climbed over the gunwale, before reaching out his hand once more to Toby; how ironic, he thought, as he took it and swung himself over, that he would end up getting the death he once thought he wanted.

“Hang on,” said Adil; they were practically shoulder to shoulder as the ship stood nearly vertically, people falling across the deck into the cold waters below. “Take a deep breath and hold it. This ship will try to suck us up, but you have to keep kicking. Don’t stop until you reach the surface.”

He wrapped a firm arm around him, and Toby reached back.

“We’ll make it, Adil,” he said, even as his stomach churned. “Damn it, we have to—”

The ship lurched—

—and they plummeted.

The first thing Toby noticed was the harsh slap of the water taking the wind out of his lungs.

Toby gasped, whipping his head up from the icy water as he struggled to breathe, succeeding only in rapid gasps. “Adil,” he wheezed, pawing his way through the ocean of bodies crowding him. “Adil!”

“Toby!” His heart clenched as he turned to the left and spotted his lover bobbing in the waters, struggling to stay afloat. “Toby, swim!”

He was trying, he really was, but his arms didn’t seem to want to do much more than make pathetic circles in the water, and his legs were like leaden weights dragging him down. “I’m trying—”

Adil’s head resurfaced. “Find something,” he said, slowly making his way across the waters to tread near him. “Something—anything to hold on to before they come back.”

Toby nodded and started to trudge his way forward. The water was frozen enough to burn; his chest was all but on fire, guarded by nothing more than his pathetic little shirt.

As they continued their trek, someone’s frozen hand floated beside them. He nearly jumped out of the water as Lucian’s frozen face came into view. “Good riddance,” he whispered, before another violent shudder reminded him of the need to get out of the water, as if his dead stepfather wasn’t proof enough.

He was really beginning to regret giving away his jacket.

“I don’t know about you,” said Adil, “but I fully intend on filing a complaint once this is all over.”

Toby let out a silent laugh, the wind nearly gone from his lungs, before something caught his eye. “What’s that?”

When they waded forward, he breathed a sigh of relief; it was an ornate hunk of wood, wide enough for two.

“Come on, then.” Adil’s hand was firm on his shoulder as he guided him forward, hoisted him up onto the panel, and Toby eagerly settled on it, taking deep breaths as he lay on his stomach. However, the instant Adil lay his weight on the edge, Toby could feel himself sliding backwards.

“Damn it,” hissed Adil, obscene in a way Toby hadn’t heard him. He slumped back onto Toby’s left, his face sinking as he shuddered violently.

“It’s alright,” whispered Toby, turning to look at him. “It’s fine—the boats should be back any minute now and—”

“I’m not going to make it.”

Toby froze. “Adil—”

Adil grabbed his hand; even next to his, it was so cold. “Toby, I love you.”

He couldn’t be. “God, don’t _say_ such things—”

“Listen to me,” he said; his hand was trembling, and his breaths were coming out raggedy. “Toby, _listen._ As soon as you make it to New York, you don’t—don’t set a foot near Theresa.” Toby shook his head, his eyes stinging from the saltwater—or were those tears? “There’s a neighborhood in Manhattan for men like us. G-Greenwich village, you understand?”

“Adil, please—”

“Greenwich,” he repeated, his voice a mere whisper. “You’ll start your life there. You’ll get your doctorate…” Had he been less frozen, Toby knew the tears would have been flowing hot and heavy; instead, they just stuck to his eyelashes as his voice caught in his throat. “And you’ll find a man who loves you, Toby.”

“Not as much as you,” he whispered. “He’ll never be you.”

Adil’s head bobbed under the water; the tips of his fingers had gone dark. “Toby,” he sputtered, struggling to keep his chin afloat, “don't. Don’t let go…”

His eyes fluttered closed, and his hand grew slack in Toby’s.

The love of his life, disappearing beneath the waves.

“No,” he whispered, and then, finding strength he didn’t know he had, yelled, “ _No!_ ” once more as he gripped Adil’s hand tightly and pulled him out of the water, up onto the driftwood.

The plank teetered dangerously as Adil skidded on, but Toby hardly noticed, too busy holding onto him and looking him over. His face—his perfect face—was so deathly ashen; his breaths were slow and silent. When Toby tried to feel for a pulse, it was weak and nearly nonexistent.

“God, no,” he choked out, before pulling Adil close and just holding onto him as tightly as he could, his hand firm against his frozen hair. “Please, don’t go, you _can’t_ go _,_ I—”

It was just as Forster wrote; Adil, his Emerson, had made him see the whole of everything at once. If fate were to take him away now, he—he couldn’t bear it. A life without Adil Joshi would be no life he’d want to live.

“I love you. Adil,” he whispered. “I love you, please…”

An eternity passed with Adil in his arms, still so cold and unmoving.

And then—he felt him shiver.

Toby let out a sob, and he shifted to look at Adil— _alive,_ despite the coolness of his skin and the stubborn ice crystals clinging to his hair. “Oh, thank God,” he whispered. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Without words, Adil wrapped himself back around Toby, tucking his head under his chin as his breaths quickened. Toby’s arms tightened around him, and though he knew it was foolish and that he should be conserving his energy, he couldn’t help but cry in relief.

He was alive. _They_ were alive.

And that was all that mattered.

That was how their rescuers found them: curled up around each other on the broken door, utterly spent from the cold and their tears.

Toby hardly registered the shouts at first, but as they grew closer, he recognized them as Emma’s, calling his name as her lifeboat drew nearer.

“Toby!” He lifted his head, and sighed in relief; there she was, rowing furiously in their direction. “Thank God you're alright!”

“Him first,” he said, gesturing to Adil. “Please, he's so weak…”

Without hesitation, she hoisted him up into the lifeboat; however, without the extra weight the driftwood dipped down sharply, sending Toby back into the frigid water.

“Hang on, hang on!” It only took a few seconds before Emma's hand was grabbing his, and he struggled up the side of the boat, her hand supporting him through the whole climb.

And just like that, they were both out of the water. They were safe.

“The nerve, really,” she said once they were both situated. “Look at this! Twenty people in a boat built for over sixty, it’s a disgrace. We could have saved so many more people.”

“At least you came back.” Toby looked to their left, and his heart felt light when he saw Joe sitting next to them. “You had me worried there for a second, fellas.” Save for his damp clothes and the blanket slung across his shoulders, he was blessedly unharmed. “Here, take this, you guys need it more than I do.”

Despite feeble protests, he tossed the blanket over to them, and Toby wasted no time in getting it wrapped around him and Adil and huddling in close.

“The cold,” he explained pathetically, knowing full well it was no excuse for how obscenely close they were. Thankfully, neither Joe nor Emma seemed bothered; they just exchanged a knowing glance and nodded.

“Of course,” said Emma with a smile as she kept rowing.

The cold air continued to nip at their exposed faces, but the combined weight of the blanket and Adil’s body right up against his was enough to bring the feeling back in his fingers.

“So, Adil,” said Joe, that crooked grin making its way onto his face once more, “I’m guessing we may need to rethink the apartment.”

Adil laughed weakly, and it was music to his ears. “I’m afraid so,” he said.

“No hard feelings. Hell, I may not even need someone to split the rent with if the _Times_ pays nicely enough.”

“You work for the _Times_?” said Emma, resting her oars on the side of the ship.

“Eh.” Joe shrugged. “It’s not really a done deal yet, plus I left all my good material back on the ship…”

Toby looked around the little boat, barely half full even with Emma’s rescue attempts. “This should make for a hell of a story.”

Joe hummed his agreement, and the boat fell silent once more save for the lapping of the waves and their steady breaths. There was much chaos to weather ahead of them, from finding the rescue ship to mourning those they couldn’t save tonight, but for now, being alive was more than enough.

It was the spring of 1912…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...like you thought I'd do it lmao


	6. Epilogue: My Heart Will Go On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you so much for sticking through with this until the end, and for all the comments and kudos you left. This was such a pleasure to work on, and I hope to get back to more long projects in the future.  
> Until then, it's time to wrap this sucker up!

_“…and all that mattered was that we made it.”_

_Fleischman finds she’s been holding her breath for the past several moments. Hart’s eyes have gone wide. Koizumi’s in actual tears. All this time, they thought this would merely be another step in their search for the heart; none of them expected to get so invested in the story of these two._

_“Thank God,” she whispers. If anything, she’s been fearing that the story would end with hypothermia winning and Hamilton doomed to living the next eighty-four years without his beloved. It seemed that fate is kinder than she often gives it credit for. “So, you both survived. And then what?”_

_He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. His brightly illuminated face is reflected in the dark window across from him. “And then we were rescued. The_ Carpathia _took us in, and I never once left_ _Adil's_ _side.” He raises a single eyebrow; there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Because of the hypothermia, you see.”_

_“Of course.” Dimly, she wonders if that was a better excuse eighty years ago than today. “And your family? Do you know what happened to them?”_

_“Not immediately,” he says. “After the ship sank, I never saw Mother or Theresa ever again.” Sensing her impending sorrow, he shakes his head. “Oh, don’t worry, they both survived. Mother went back to London and Theresa married some gentleman in Philadelphia, though they both thought me dead for the longest time.”_

_“What changed?”_

_“Emma kept in touch with my brother even after she moved to the states.” He looks up. “In all honesty, I don’t think they ever stopped loving each other—but I digress. I learnt of my mother’s whereabouts and wrote her a letter with no return address informing her that I was alive, but that I had to keep to myself from now on.”_

_“And you just left it at that?” says Hart, shaking his head._

_“I had to,” he says. “I don’t doubt that she loved me—but the woman did try to force me into an unwanted marriage, and I_ was _living with another man, so it was for the best that we never spoke again.”_

_Fleischman is silent; she doesn’t understand, how he seems so relatively undisturbed about the whole ordeal, as if cutting off family, even for survival, isn’t a choice she’s sure she would be able to make. Then again, it’s been years; he’s probably had time to get used to the idea._

_“But no matter,” he continues. “We had a new life to start.” At this, he smiles again; the fluorescent lights from above catch on his ring._ _“We moved to Greenwich, as promised._ _I got my doctorate and the position at the university, and_ _Adil_ _opened a small pub in town that accidentally attracted… all the right sorts of people.”_

_“And his art?”_

_“Oh, he kept at it.” Hamilton’s hand rests on his chest again._ _“Some_ _sketches,_ _some_ _paintings. Made it to a few galleries, he was quite proud.” His fingers curl in onto themselves. “As was I.”_

_Silence fills the lab again._

_“You guys really had something pretty special, huh?” says Koizumi, wiping away the last of her tears._

_“Indeed,” he says softly. “Eighty magical years. I wouldn’t trade the world for it.”_

_He pauses, glancing back at the portrait. Fleischman thinks that it almost seems more precious, somehow, knowing that it’s not a doomed artifact of lost love, but merely the beginning of something beautiful. “The past four years without him have been the hardest of my life, by far.”_

_Despite herself, Fleischman lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hamilton.”_

_“It’s alright.” He straightens his back, still clutching his chest. “At least it was in his sleep: an angel’s death, as they say. One moment he’s there, the next…” He shrugs. “Well. He was lucky to even reach one hundred and four, I have to say.”_

_“There’s a saying in my culture,” she says, pulling back. “May you live to be a hundred and twenty.”_

_At that, Hamilton just snorts. “A hundred and twenty?” he repeats, standing up. “Oh, no. I don’t think I’d like to imagine myself getting that old. I’ve lived long enough as it is.”_

_Hart hands him his cane, and he tightly grips it as he begins to make his way out. “That’s all I have for you,” he says. “I hope it shall aid in your search, Ms. Fleischman.”_

_“My search,” she repeats, and then slaps her forehead. Hamilton had her so enraptured in this tale of forbidden romance that she completely forgot the initial point of the conversation! “Damn, right. Uh, do you know what happened to the heart of the ocean after the sinking? You said you’d lost it somewhere in the pandemonium, but…”_

_“I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.” He nods at her one more time, and she moves to switch the tape recorder off. “Take care, and have a good night.”_

_She just sits there as he hobbles out, clutching the tape recorder pathetically close to her chest. “You as well, sir,” she whispers, as he opens the door. He pauses, patting his chest one more time with a faint smile, and then proceeds back onto the deck._

_Wait. That little smile—_

_“Damn it,” she whispers to herself, scrambling to her feet and pursuing him before he can reach his bedroom._

_Because just because he’s said all that he_ could _doesn’t mean he’s said all that he has to offer._

_“Mr. Hamilton!” she calls after him. It isn’t hard to catch up; despite his youthful energy, he’s still an old man who hasn’t managed to make it that far just yet. “Mr. Hamilton, wait!”_

_He turns around, eyeing her up. “Yes?”_

_She just gazes straight at him. He meets her steely glare straight-on._

_“I think you know exactly where the heart is, sir.”_

_His gaze doesn’t waver. “And what if I do, Ms. Fleischman?”_

_“Because—” He tightens his free hand on the railing, the moonlight bouncing off of his wedding band. “Because you’re here to tell us about the heart of the ocean, sir. And I need to know everything about it.”_

_He shrugs. “It’s not your decision to make.”_

_“It absolutely is!” she says, leaning forward and balling her hands up. He still doesn’t flinch. “Mr. Hamilton, I’ve been obsessing over the heart for the past three years. It’s my passion. It’s priceless! It’s—”_

_“It’s mine,” he snaps. “And that means I alone decide what happens with it.”_

_Fleischman doesn’t relax her fists, but she does allow herself to lean back, gently holding onto the sea-slick railing for support. “Why can’t you just tell me, at least?”_

_He shakes his head. “You’re just like your father, you know,” he says. She raises an eyebrow. “I was his doctoral advisor. A brilliant young man, but never knew when to let something go that was clearly a lost cause.”_

_“But it’s not lost just yet,” she says, her voice trembling. “There’s still a chance we can discover it.”_

_“Brianna.” The use of her first name surprises her, and she blinks for a moment before his weathered face comes back into view. “Please, can’t you just let an old man’s heart rest in peace?”_

_Her shoulders sag._

_“So, that means you’re never going to tell us where it is?” she asks. One last attempt to get something out of him._

_Hamilton shakes his head. “I’m afraid it shall have to remain a mystery for the ages.” Letting go of the railing, he begins making tentative, shaky steps back towards his cabin. “Good night, and good luck, Fleischman.”_

_Fleischman watches his back as he leaves. “Good night, Mr. Hamilton,” she whispers. She doesn’t know if he even hears him. She doesn’t think it even matters._

_Toby Hamilton dies in his sleep that night, just a week shy of his one hundred and sixth birthday._

_Brianna Fleischman is the first to find him, when he fails to show up at breakfast. She hovers next to the door, gently knocking, unaware of what lays beyond it. “Mr. Hamilton?” she asks, delicately; perhaps he just decided to sleep in, as appropriate for a man of his age. “Mr. Hamilton, sir? Breakfast is ready.” When he fails to answer her, she knocks again, a little louder for good measure. “Mr. Hamilton?” she repeats. “Toby? Are you alright?”_

_Nothing but silence greets her._

_Hesitating for a moment, she takes a deep breath before opening the door. “Mr. Hamilton?” she calls out one last time, praying that he’s just a heavy sleeper or in the bathroom. Unfortunately, that’s not the sight that greets her. “Mr. Hamilton!”_

_Because Toby is lying in his bed completely still, with the barest hint of a smile on his pale face._

_Fleischman wants to think there’s a different explanation, but when she gently shakes his shoulders to try and rouse him, they’re as cool as the air around him. When she grabs his wrist, already stiff from rigor mortis, she can’t find a pulse._

_Sighing, she drops his arm back onto his chest and moves to call the captain—when a glimmer of light from the hand curled up near his chin catches her eye._

_She narrows her eyes, making her way back to the bed. Initially, she thinks it’s his wedding band, but it’s his right hand that’s shining gently. As she nears it, she notices the source: a delicate golden chain hanging around his neck and attached to something large enough to be clasped by him._

_And as she gingerly unpeels his stiff fingers from the pendant, her heart drops._

_“Son of a_ bitch! _”_

_For right around his neck lies the heart of the ocean._

_While the ship they’re on was built for research purposes, it unfortunately does not house a large enough cooler to_ _hold_ _a surprise corpse, meaning Mr. Hamilton has to be buried at sea._

_It’s a delicate affair, with nothing spared even with their meager resources. His body is tightly wrapped in a spare sail and weighted with chains; Fleischman double checks every last knot. The captain is kind enough to lower him over the edge and say a few words about ashes to ashes as he slowly disappears into the Atlantic, nothing but a roll of canvas dropping down into the choppy waters below as the entire crew watches on solemnly._

_As soon as he’s gone for a few seconds, Koizumi turns to Fleischman. “You know,” she begins, “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but…”_

_“But what, Koizumi?”_

_She purses her lips, looking back out onto the ocean. “That bastard never did tell us where the heart was.”_

_Fleischman can only look down. The captain had insisted on preparing Mr. Hamilton for the funeral, but before he could notice, she slipped the ornate pendant back under his nightshirt, patting it in place so that it wouldn’t dare slip out while he was being wrapped up. “I guess not,” she whispers. “Maybe it’s for the best that it_ _remain_ _a mystery.”_

_The sun shines over the waters, basking everything in a soft glow._

_With one last nod, the two women turn on their heels and head back towards the main cabin, conceding their defeat._

The grand staircase is just as he remembers it.

His hand—already losing the traces of time—traces the bannister, smooth and pliant beneath his fingers. Above his head, the sun shines in brilliantly through the domed skylight, sending angelic beams of light across each step that he takes forward.

They’re all here—everyone that mattered. Joe raises his glass with a cocky grin and Emma waves serenely and even his mother can’t help but look fondly at her youngest as he makes his way to the top. The music grows louder with every step he takes; he can hardly contain himself, skipping across steps two at a time with a youthful energy he hasn’t felt in decades.

And right up at the top, his delicate hand already outstretched and his deep eyes warm with affection, is the man he’s been waiting to see for four long years, just as handsome as the day he met him. And it’s as if he’s coming home all over again.

“Hello, Toby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for sticking through with this until the very end! Special kudos to Rae @GayDiesaster for helping me beta this beast of a fic; I really can't thank you enough.  
> Feel free to follow me on my Tumblr [@lesbianholster](lesbianholster.tumblr.com), and I'll see you next time!


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